Deathstroke: Path to Resurrection
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: Sequel to Deathstroke: Crossroads. Slade has settled in Destine and continued his investigation to find his ex-wife and child. When a possible clue leads to his disappearance, a worried Meg contacts her 'in-laws,' which in turn leads to a vital missing piece. Now Slade and Meg must bait a trap to rescue Grant & Adeline ... and avoid falling into the trap set by their captor.
1. Prologue: Seeds of Destruction

Disclaimer: Slade and the rest of the Wilson family do not belong to me (well, aside from Gideon, but I'm not sure he'll be appearing in this story). No one you recognize from _Arrow_ or from the DC comics in general do, either. The denizens of Destine, Missouri, on the other hand, do belong to me. Don't mind if you borrow them, just ask first and return them intact. Oh, and if anyone has an idea about a name for this series as a whole, aside from _Deathstroke_ , don't be shy … I'll listen to your idea, even if I don't use it (and I promise to give you credit).

Author's Notes: Welcome to the second story in this series, which began with _Deathstroke_ : _Crossroads_. If you don't recognize characters such as Meg and Angel Carvalho, or Andrew Perkins, you might want to go back and read that. If you'd just like to continue, then here's what you need to know: Slade has arrived in the small town of Destine, Missouri, looking for Grant. His first day there, he stopped the town drunk/bully from attacking the man's own sister-in-law, who owns the local diner. Dory, who is far more than even her family realizes, recognizes Slade and claims him for the town. She also introduces him to Meg Carvalho, a widow with a teenage daughter, who somewhat impulsively invites him to stay at her house while he works out what he's doing next. During his stay with Meg and her daughter Angel, Slade begins to question whether he can really stop being Deathstroke. As the first story concludes, Meg points out that Deathstroke can be a force for good, just as easily as for bad, and Slade acknowledges that he's come to believe in balance. To that end, he'll remain in Destine, and protect the town to atone for what he did to Starling City. But what no one in Destine knows, including Slade, is that the future version of his younger son Grant has traveled back in time … abducted his younger self and mother … and is even now holding them hostage in Destine. Like his older brother Joe, Grant wants to see Deathstroke return as an agent of destruction … and as this second story opens, he's not real picky about how he goes about it …

Prologue

Seeds of Destruction

'Defeat may prove to have been the only path to resurrection, despite its ugliness,' Antoine de Saint **-** Exupéry **,** _Flight_ _to_ _Arras_

Abandoned Warehouse, outskirts of Destine, MO

Early January 2018

He was unconscious when they found him … beaten and battered, hanging by his wrists from a crane, chin resting against his chest. Officer Andrew Perkins swallowed hard and moved forward cautiously. Right now, he didn't see the mastermind of the siege that took the life of his mother-in-law, but a badly injured man. And the likelihood that the people who hurt him were still around was good. More to the point, the idea that there was anyone who could do this to this particular man? That scared the hell out of Andrew.

In the three weeks since his confrontation with Slade Wilson in front of Meg Carvalho's house, Andrew often saw the other man in passing, but their paths rarely actually crossed. Meg was busy with her new job at the retirement home and when she wasn't working, she was helping her boarder find his son. There was a part of Andrew which was sure Wilson would have left after their confrontation, but the man was made of sterner stuff than that. Then again, that really shouldn't have (and didn't) surprised him.

At his hip, his walkie-talkie crackled and his partner said tersely, "The building is clear. Did you find anything?" Andrew immediately responded in the affirmative, followed by what, exactly, he found a moment later. There was a long silence, the other man answered, "Copy that. I'm on my way, see if you can figure out a way to get him down." Yeah. Good luck with that. Nonetheless, he began circling the unconscious man … and discovered that getting him to the ground would be far easier than he anticipated. Provided, of course, that Wilson remained unconscious. He wasn't sure which outcome he preferred.

It was a moot point, because aside from a few soft, involuntary moans of pain, Wilson never woke up. And once Andrew had the injured man on the ground, he cringed at the damage he immediately noticed. Wilson's t-shirt was cut to ribbons, revealing terrible bruising to his torso and his face was a bloody mess (literally). Andrew shook his head, muttering, "How did someone get the drop on you, Wilson?" He really hadn't much to do with Wilson … the man was rarely seen in public without Meg or her daughter or the rest of that little group: a quiet, brooding sentinel watching over them.

His partner, Troy Everett, entered the building at a dead run, dropping to one knee beside Andrew. The older man breathed, "Jesus Christ … they worked him over six ways from Sunday, didn't they? I've called it in … can you stay with him while I call Meg? She'd have my nuts if I didn't tell her." Andrew just nodded. Everett wasn't wrong, especially since it was Meg who called them two days earlier, worried about her boarder. The other man turned away, while Andrew returned his attention to checking over Wilson. All police officers in Destine were trained in triage and basic first aid. The kind of medical care Wilson needed, Andrew couldn't provide, but he could at least make the man comfortable (or, less UNcomfortable).

And while he did, he kept thinking about his mother-in-law. For years, he hated the man whose actions led to her death, led to the traumatizing of his little girl. He had, he realized now, turned that man into a monster, larger than life and terrifying. But this was just a man. A flawed, imperfect man, who did horrendous things, but still a man … a man who acknowledged what he'd done and regretted it, a man who was now seeking to protect others. And, even more importantly, he was a man who was living in Andrew's town, which made him Andrew's responsibility.

He thought, too, about Macy. The night of his confrontation with Wilson, he'd told his little girl about what he'd done. He told her about what Wilson had said, and the lack of excuses he provided. And then he told her about the drug that turned good men into monsters. When he finished, Macy curled in his arms and whispered that she knew she wasn't supposed to, but she hated Slade Wilson. She wasn't supposed to hate anyone, she knew. In a way, she was glad to know about all this, because it meant she really couldn't hate him anymore. On the other hand, she didn't know who to hate now.

Oh, that's not how she put it, but that was what she meant. Andrew tightened his arms around his little girl and kissed the top of her head, because he knew exactly what she meant. He wondered now, as he gently cradled the back of Slade Wilson's skull, to prevent it from cracking against the cement floor of the warehouse, what his little girl would say about this when he told her about it. Because he _would_ tell her about it … would it finish her nightmares once and for all, to realize that the man responsible for that night of hell was just a human being like her? Or would it provide her with even worse nightmares? He didn't have the answers to any of those questions. And, he suspected, Slade Wilson didn't, either.

DSDSDSDSDSDSDS

Meg Carvalho was laying out the toiletries on the table in preparation for the day's volunteer activity: putting together hygiene bags for Sissy. For the last three years, her friend had run a free lunch program at her church. In the last few months, however, with the shower in the church fixed, Sissy added a new dimension to that program … giving the down on their luck in the area a place where they could get a shower and/or clean clothes. Which was where Meg and her volunteers came into play. They assembled the toiletry bags, which Meg would take to Sissy after work. Assuming she didn't get a call from Troy, telling her that they found Slade. In which case, she would check on Slade first, and then take the bags to Sissy.

She was in the process of re-counting how many items they had left and trying to calculate if she had anything that could be substituted when ' _I_ _Shot_ _the_ _Sheriff_ ' began playing in the room. Meg jumped a mile, and then glowered at her phone. She muttered under her breath, "Not funny, Angeline, not funny at all." She answered the phone when she saw who was calling, "Hi, Troy … do you have anything for me?" Three days earlier, Slade disappeared after telling her that he had a very promising lead for Grant. He promised to check in that night, just to let her know what he found. He never called her.

Meg knew that the police wouldn't investigate unless he'd been missing for twenty-four hours, so she waited. It was Slade, after all, and her initial impression of the man's ability to take care of himself was proven correct several times over the last few weeks. But he was only one man, and a single man, even as gifted as Slade obviously was, could be overwhelmed. And so, two days earlier, she called Troy, her husband's former partner, to tell him about Slade's disappearance. That night, she told Angel about the steps she took … and told her to keep her cell phone close. Just in case.

"Meg, good. Listen, we found your boarder. We're in the process of transporting him to the hospital, so finish out your shift and then meet us there," Troy answered tersely. Meg froze. There was a soft swear, and Troy added a bit more gently, "He's hurt, Meg … they beat him up pretty badly … and currently unconscious, but I don't think you need to prepare for the worst. But you _will_ need to come to the hospital, just as soon as your shift ends." It went without saying that just as she did after Stephen died, Meg immersed herself in her work … back then, it was to mute her grief. Now, it was to distract her from her worry over Slade.

She took a deep breath and released it, forcing herself to push her fear and worry to the back of her mind, replying at last, "Okay. Okay, you're right … if I leave now, I'll just end up getting in the way. Uhm … I finish up at two pm today, so I'll come to the hospital as soon as I'm done." A glance at her watch told her that it currently twelve thirty, so she just needed to stay focused a little while longer. To that end, she added, "Did you and Nita collect any toiletries when you were on your trip? I don't have to pick them up, just wanted to check in with you, 'cause I'll probably forget once I get to the hospital."

"We got a whole bag for you, and Nita will bring them to the home sometime this week. You can relax now, Meg … we found him. See you soon," Troy told her. With a shaky finger, Meg ended the call and slumped into a chair, burying her face in her free hand. They found Slade. He was alive … badly beaten, but alive. That made her wonder … many things. Where they found him, what happened … who had done that to him.

The chatter outside the multi-purpose alerted her that she needed to pull herself together, and fast, so she took a deep breath and did one last check of their supplies. When the first of her 'students' entered a few minutes later, she was leaning against one of the tables, her arms folded over her chest with a small smile on her face. Over the next hour and a half, she assisted where necessary (which it rarely was), sorted bags to make sure more fit in the box (far more frequently), and created a suggestion box for anyone who had ideas about future projects.

One thing she didn't anticipate was a gentle hand wrapping around her fingers as she worked on the suggestion box. She looked up into the eyes of Miss Emmeline, the oldest resident at ninety-two. Miss Emmeline buried three husbands, a son and a daughter, and two grandsons, and was considered the Grand Lady of the home. She said now, "I've told the others we'll clean up today. You need to see to that young man of yours." For once, Meg didn't argue when she called Slade 'her' young man. Miss Emmeline watched her worry over Slade these last few days, and never once asked why she was so attached to a man she'd known less than a month.

Instead, she offered Miss Emmeline a weak smile, answering, "Thank you … that'll be appreciated. And once I get some suggestions, you'll have the first crack at choosing our next activity." Miss Emmeline squeezed her fingers again, gently shooing her out of the multi-purpose room. Meg paused long enough to grab her purse before heading to the front desk to sign out. She told Vanessa, the receptionist currently on duty, "The residents are cleaning up the multi-purpose room … I'm heading to the hospital. I got a call from Detective Everett that my boarder has been found." Vanessa nodded … she wasn't the sort of person who said a lot with her words, but her eyes reflected sympathy. With her responsibilities to the home discharged for the day, Meg all but ran out to the car.

She'd already decided that she would wait until she reached the hospital to call her daughter. Angel would want answers that Meg didn't have yet. Besides, this was the time of day when her girl had her most difficult classes, and she wasn't about to make things more difficult for her. Angel needed to stay focused on her studies, not her mother's anxieties. And so, she focused on reaching the hospital safely. Slade was still alive … he was unconscious when Troy called her, but he was alive. That was the important thing.

On a normal day, it took her about thirty minutes to drive to the hospital … Today, it took her twenty minutes … fifteen minutes for the actual drive, five minutes to park and walk to the front desk, where Troy was waiting for her. He took her hands, saying, "Good to see you, Meggie. They have him in a room. They don't think he'll need any surgery, but they're keeping him for observation. On the way to his room, I'll brief you on what you need to do for him. He has broken ribs, so he'll need some help in getting around. And, he woke up during the examination … good thing we knew he has PTSD." Meg exhaled slowly as she and Troy walked to the elevator. That was one of the first thing she told Troy when she reported Slade's disappearance. He added, "He didn't hurt anyone except himself. And from what I know of Wilson, he would prefer it that way." Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.

He led her into a quiet room at the end of the hallway on the third floor. Troy murmured, "He's been sedated. The doctor figures he'll wake up in a half hour." Meg nodded. Troy squeezed her shoulder as she moved forward to Slade's bedside. It was so strange, to see him so still. Even when he was asleep (rare that she saw him sleeping, since his second day with them), he was never this still. She sat down beside his bed and took his hand, studying his face. He'd been cleaned up, but she could still see the evidence of the beating on his face, could hear it in the hitch of his breathing.

But he was here. He was alive. She could take care of him now. Meg leaned against the side of the chair, her exhaustion from the last few days finally catching up with her. She didn't remember closing her eyes … but she found herself opening them when soft noises drew her attention. Only moments later, a single brown eye was also opening and focusing on her. Remembering what happened the last time Slade had a nightmare, Meg tightened her hand on his, murmuring, "Do you know where you are … do you know who I am?"

To her relief, a soft smile touched his lips as he murmured in a hoarser-than-normal voice, "Looks like I'm in hospital. And you're Margreet Theodora Carvalho, the woman crazy enough to take me in." Meg rolled her eyes at the use of her full name, but smiled anyhow. Slade was awake, he was himself. He closed his eye briefly, before saying, "And I found him. Grant. I didn't see him, but I saw Adeline. They were in the warehouse where I was being held." Meg stared at him in shock. They … what? How did he know that? A small smile lit Slade's face, and he explained, "Those three idiots didn't know what they were doing. I learned early on how to take a beating. And I learned how to … divorce my attention from pain. That's how I realized Adeline was there. Let them think that they were hurting me worse than they were and let my head fall back between my arms. Saw her in the tower in the middle of the warehouse."

And of course, because these things always got her attention, she focused on what most people would have considered the least important detail of Slade's commentary, asking, "Wh … you were tortured?" Why this surprised her so much, she wasn't sure. Given what Slade already told her (and her knowledge that he had PTSD), she should have realized such a thing happened. She added (and immediately gave herself a mental kick), "What happened to them?" Meg was pretty sure she knew, but the words came out before she had a chance to stop them. Ugh. She really needed to stop doing things like that.

So she wasn't really surprised when Slade said very matter of fatly, "They're dead. I killed them." She nodded, because yeah, that was totally to be expected. Slade was either rescued or rescued himself, and he seemed to rescue himself most of the time. Also, while she doubted he would have gone hunting, she did believe that he killed people who tried to prevent his escape. There was likely more to it than that, but right now, she was more concerned with the now. So. Slade had seen his ex-wife while his captors were using him as a punching bag. That didn't necessarily mean that Grant was with Adeline, but given they seemed to have been taken together, she probably knew where her son was … or where she'd seen him last.

"I'm sorry … I know it must have hurt, to have her so close and not be able to reach out to her," Meg said softly, still holding Slade's hand. He smiled slightly and shook his head, wincing a little. His fingers tightened around hers … or maybe just flexed. She wasn't entirely sure, but he wasn't trying to get her to let go. That was one of the few things she was sure about. If he wanted her to let go, he would have pulled his hand from hers … or told her outright to let go. He'd done neither.

"No … no, it's okay. My captors, they were amateurs. Like I told you, I learned long ago how to redirect my attention during torture. They weren't expecting that … and they weren't expecting me to see Adeline. Now that I know where she's being held …" He let the sentence trail off, because, well, it really wasn't necessary to finish it. They both knew that there wasn't a force on earth powerful enough to prevent him from rescuing his ex and his child. And Meg? Well, she wasn't about to try.

Instead, she asked, "What's our next move? I mean, aside from you recovering from your injuries?" A familiar, mulish expression appeared on Slade's face, and Meg added, "Ah, no. We know where Adeline is being held. It's possible that she'll be moved once your former captors realize you've been rescued, but since neither Troy nor his partner noticed her, I don't think it's likely. Besides, you need to recover, because you aren't any good to Adeline or Grant like this. We use your recovery time to plan … and then, when we have the information we need, we bring Grant home." They would worry about the niceties of who Grant would live with later (and something his parents would need to work out). Getting the little boy and his mother to safety was their number one priority.

All else was gravy.

TBC


	2. Chapter 1: What Needs to be Said

Author's notes (disgruntled look) Okay, I knew I needed to do research for Slade's hospital stay, but that was **not** how I wanted to do it! (exasperated sigh) Last Sunday, I met my parents for brunch at our new Irish pub. Upon leaving, I started feeling … off. I tend to be stubborn and try to push through when I don't feel well, and have picked up all sorts of little tricks to make myself feel better. None of them worked. In the two minutes it took to get from the restaurant to the local fire station, I went from feeling 'off' to being dizzy. So, I pulled into the driveway to the fire station, had gotten nearly into the parking lot … and blacked out. I regained consciousness when I hit a fence post. Fortunately, I was going maybe two miles an hour, but I still have around $900 worth of damage to my car. Spent about four hours in the hospital, while they tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Told my mother at one point, 'you _do realize I'm going to use this in a story_?' Slade just gave me a long-suffering look. (rueful grin) Poor Slade. I do so torture him. In any event, in this chapter, we have Angel learning of Slade's rescue; the revelation of just how those three boys managed to get the jump on Slade; Adeline getting some VERY bad news; Future!Grant revealing his plans, while Rebecca Merlyn wakes up in a VERY unexpected place.

Chapter One

What Needs to be Said

She was sitting in her final class of the day (study hall) when she received the text from her mother. ' _Slade found. Alive, but injured, at hospital now_. _Have texted Lindy, she will pick you up to come to hospital.'_ Angelique Carvalhosighed quietly with relief, sent back a quick acknowledgment, and then returned her attention to her Latin assignment. Her Chemistry and History assignments were already complete, and this particular bit of conjugating and vocabulary words was almost done. A quick glance at her cell phone told her that she had another half hour left in study hall, so she needed to figure out what she would work out next.

She was anticipating at least an hour at the hospital, maybe more, and she would need a distraction there from her mother's worry. Honestly, half the time she wished that her mom would just jump Slade's bones and be done with it … the other half, she worried that Mom would do just that. She'd been alone for an awfully long time, after all, and while she was old, apparently, she was still capable of feeling things like that. It wasn't something that Angel really wanted to consider, especially given her own feelings awakening. Just … ew. Even if Slade was uber-hot. There were just some things you didn't want to even imagine your parents doing, and that was at the top of the list.

To make matters worse, while Mom seemed to be aware of her attraction to Slade (even if she was fighting it all the way), Slade seemed oblivious to his feelings for her mom. He was protective of her, and they spent a lot of time together, working on finding Slade's son (his name, Angel learned, was Grant and he was eleven years old). It was clear to Angel, and Madison, to say nothing of Aunt Lindy and Miss Sissy, that he thought a lot of Angel's mom. To everything else, however, he was oblivious.

Angel, however, wasn't. She was fifteen, yeah, and focused a lot on what was happening in her own life … but she saw how protective Slade was, and she saw the way her mom looked at him. She also saw how worried her mom had been, these last few days. The only person she ever about like that before was Angel herself, and if she was really honest with herself (something Maddie believed in, whole-heartedly, even before that bitch Daphne lied about her) … Angel was just a bit jealous of Slade Wilson. She'd had her mother's attention for so long …she was used to being the center of her life. And, well, she still was, but …

Angel shook her head. This always happened when she started thinking about her mom and Slade. All right. What was her second hardest subject after Geometry and Chemistry? Latin was nearly done … oh, she still had to do Geography. Technically speaking, that wasn't a difficult class, but she tended to put it off for that reason. She'd work on that in the last half hour of study hall, and then she could focus on her Literature class once Aunt Lindy picked her up and took her to the hospital.

Another text came through from her mother, this one saying, ' _Slade awake_.' He'd been unconscious? Angel felt a thrill of fear race down her spine, because there were times when she was sure that he was invincible, especially after seeing him take down those three losers a few weeks ago. She said as much during a conversation at dinner one evening, not long after it happened, and Slade shook his head, telling her that he was far from invincible. Angel would have taken it further, teasing him about being overly modest, but Mom caught her eye and shook her head. Angel let it drop, reluctantly, and Slade added that due to his training in the ASIS, it was hard to take him down, whether physically or with drugs … but it wasn't impossible.

Mom used that opportunity to change the subject, asking if Slade had any allergies she needed to worry about. He reassured her that he did not, adding that because he'd been inoculated against most chemicals and sedatives (along with most of his fellow operatives), the ASIS had to use a special sedative on him when he was needing surgery or to be asleep for a procedure. Mom asked a bit wryly if that was something they would need to know, and Slade admitted only if he was overdosed with it … which wasn't likely, as the people who would know about it were primarily in Australia. However, he promised to give Mom more information about that later.

Angel texted back, ' _how bad are his injuries_?' She knew, all too well, that just as sedatives or drugs could cause loss of consciousness, so could head injuries. And those, from what she was told, were tricky. She remembered once, during a sleepover at a friend's house (not Madison, that was before Maddie moved to Destine) … one of the girls ignored what she was told and climbed out onto the window ledge. Not surprisingly, she fell and ended up with a concussion.

The teen shuddered, because the weeks after that particular sleepover were tense. She eased her Geography book out of her backpack while she was waiting for her mother's response, which came only seconds after she put away her Latin book. She winced, seeing the response, ' _Still not sure about head injuries. Definite broken ribs from beating. Doctors checking to make sure no internal bleeding or bruising. Will know more soon.'_

Angel texted back, ' _Understood. Will text you when_ _Aunt_ _Lindy_ _picks_ _me_ _up_.' She frowned, because she was the only person her own age she knew who typed out words properly … that was something her mother insisted upon when she got her cell phone and texting capacity. _I_ _want to be able to read what_ _you're saying_ , Mom said, with her ' _this_ _is_ _**not**_ _negotiable'_ expression. She shook her head and put her cell phone aside, before turning her attention to her geography assignment. How many guys did it take to bring Slade Wilson down and beat the crap out of him? She wasn't sure that was a math problem she wanted to deal with.

DSDSDSDSDSDSDS

"You know, Mother, I really must thank you for that sedative recipe you provided to me on my sixteenth birthday … my little army could have never taken down Father without it."

Adeline Kane Wilson looked up from her sleeping child, his head resting trustingly in her lap, and into the brown eyes of Grant's doppelganger from the future. Sedative …? Grant continued with that mocking smile she'd learned to hate only hours after seeing it for the first time, "Oh yes … the sedative that ASIS created after it finished rendering Father immune to other such drugs. You gifted to me on my sixteenth birthday, in the event that Father came for me. A means of protection, you said … just jab it into a vein, and he'd be unconscious within minutes."

Adeline felt her blood run cold, because no … not again. She'd been unable to prevent Joe from following down his father down a dark path … he idolized Slade far too much, even before the emergence of Deathstroke. She'd hoped and prayed that by preventing Slade from finding out about Grant that she could at least protect her younger son. If anything, it seemed that she'd made things worse. It wasn't the first time such a thought crossed her mind … it certainly wouldn't be the last. Especially after what she'd witnessed over the last few days. Three days earlier, Adeline and Grant were moved from the basement of the warehouse where they'd been held for the last six weeks, into what seemed to be a tower of some kind. It was from here that Adeline had seen her ex-husband for the first time in over a decade.

She'd watched as he was dragged, unconscious, into the warehouse … as the three youngsters who were evidently helping this dark version of her son hoisted Slade onto the hook where he'd been suspended through the beatings that followed. And she'd watched those beatings, careful to keep her own body between her little boy's line of sight and the helpless figure of his father. She forced herself to watch as one boy steadied him from behind, another held his legs, and the biggest boy pummeled him. She forced herself to acknowledge what she had a hand in creating.

In more ways than one. She forced out through numb lips, "Why? What possible reason could you have for hurting your father? I'm the one who kept him away from you … I'm the one who told your brother not to tell him, and if he did, then say that you were dead! What possible reason could you have for doing this?" That smirk grew until she wanted to slap it from his face. What had she done? She hadn't thought it possible, but she created a monster even worse than the original Deathstroke. From what she was told by her father-in-law before this nightmare version of Grant found them, much of what Slade did was directed by the poison in his veins. Yes, she was still angry with him for leaving on that damn mission, but …

"You're right. You are responsible for all of that. Oh, I've heard the excuses a thousand times … you were doing it to protect me. The truth is, you did it to protect yourself. You couldn't forgive Father for being what he was … what you knew him to be, even before you married him!" Grant snarled at her. There was more to it than that, there was always more to it than that, but the trouble was, Grant was right. This stranger who wore what would be her son's face was right. Perhaps seeing that, he added, that awful smugness returning, "As to why? Oh, that's simple. I want Deathstroke back. And you … you're going to help that happen."

Wh … what? Grant went on, looking entirely too pleased with himself, "You see, Father isn't an idiot. He may have gone soft, but he isn't stupid. He'll have recognized that particular cocktail, and he'll know that the only person likely to have that … would be you." Adeline was on the point of denying that, but her baby stirred in her lap, and that silenced her long enough to think. And to realize that Grant was right … again. By now, Slade knew that she was no longer in Australia. In her last conversation with her eldest, Joe told her that Slade knew about Grant. That was, in fact, her only hope that she and her youngest might survive this, because she knew how determined Slade was.

But that knowledge was a double-edged sword. Slade would know that she and Grant were no longer in Australia, and following their trail would have led him here. But did he know that she and their son were captives? Adeline's heart sank as she realized that her ex-husband could very well believe that she provided the drug cocktail that allowed the future version of their son to capture him … and she had. A future version of her, who had no idea what she was creating in her younger son. And even before Billy Wintergreen betrayed her husband on that accursed island (something she learned from her older son), Slade had trust issues. Adeline closed her eyes in horror, because this twisted version of her little boy was right. Again.

Grant spoke again, sounding anything but comforting, "Don't worry, Mother … you gave birth to his two children, and even Deathstroke would be merciful to the mother of his sons." Adeline opened her eyes at that, cringing at the cold smile she was greeted with. Just when it looked like she may have reached the bottom, the floor shattered below her feet. As she was trained to do as an ASIS agent, Adeline took stock of her resources. They were pitifully thin. On the other hand, her challengers were plentiful. Item … she was being held captive in a foreign country. Item … it was a future version of her child who was holding her. Item … the current version of that future child was also a captive. Item … the crazy bastard whom her little boy grew into used an ASIS cocktail on his father, knowing that Slade would blame her for it (rightfully so, as it turned out, even if it was a different Adeline).

Which left only one last card to play: the truth. Adeline asked brokenly, "What did I do, to make you hate me so much, Grant? Was it keeping you from your father?" Grant, who was heading toward the door to their prison, stopped. He turned to face, his eyes flickering from her face to his younger self and back again. For several moments, she feared/hoped that he wouldn't answer, because she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

At last, however, he said quietly, "I could have forgiven that, Mother … if you hadn't actively worked to turn me against my father as I got older. You told me about what a monster he was, without telling me the rest of the story … about the serum he received, about the betrayals he faced. You left out the betrayal of first William Wintergreen, and later of the boy whom my father took under his wing and protected. And once I did learn the truth … I was never sure who I hated more, you or Oliver Queen. You both betrayed him. By the time I was able to piece everything together, you were already dead, so it no longer mattered. Oliver Queen took my father's eye, so I took his arm, and then I took his city. Of course, I lost the city again, so I decided to learn from my mistakes, here in the past. A literal fresh start. You know, my father once promised Oliver Queen that only after he lost everything, would he die. I'm making a new promise to you, right here, right now. I will kill you. I've come to learn that I hate you even more than I hated Oliver Queen. But I won't kill you. Not yet. First, I'll corrupt this infant version of me. I'll gain his trust. And then, I'll turn him against you. I'll open his eyes to the lying bitch you really are. Then, I'll remind Father of his greatness as Deathstroke. Only when he hates you again, only when my younger self looks at you with disgust … that's when I'll kill you. When you have nothing else and no one else, when you lie at my feet, utterly broken."

With those words, Grant swept out of the room. Adeline closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, blinking back tears. Her fingers rubbed the back of her son's neck, the action soothing her as much as it seemed to soothe him. She had no way of knowing if her future self in Grant's timeline knew about those extenuating circumstances … but her mum used to tell her that her bitterness and ability to hold a grudge would end up hurting her, so it wouldn't surprise her if she did know.

She was jolted out of her regrets and worries by the sound of Grant shouting, which woke his younger self up. No more than two minutes after he left their prison, he returned, and in a towering rage. Her son shrank against her as his older alternate thundered, "He escaped … how in the hell did he escape?" He … Slade? Slade escaped. Adeline's heart leaped in her chest, along with hope. She had no idea how it was possible. The last time she'd been permitted near the window, Slade was still hanging from the crane, unconscious and battered. But … how could he have escaped? She'd watched as that one boy pounded his fists into Slade's body. He had to have at least a few broken ribs, and she knew the Mirakuru was out of his system, so there was no miraculous healing.

They were trained in the ASIS how to withstand torture, and how to free oneself from captivity … but at their age, they no longer had the flexibility to flip themselves upside down, the way Slade would have needed to free himself. And the one in back hit him a few times as well. As if that wasn't bad enough, in addition to the vicious blows to both sides of his body, he'd taken several blows to his head that would have left him dizzy. Which meant …

She saw the dawn of understanding in the alternate Grant's expression at the same time she figured it out, but Adeline couldn't help herself. She smirked back at him, saying, "He didn't escape … he was rescued. And if he was rescued …." Then that meant Slade wasn't alone on the outside. He had help, he had someone looking out for him. And that would make Grant's job all the harder. Adeline continued, that smirk growing, "One thing I'm guessing my future self never told you … Slade is a protector, at his core. That was one reason I fell in love with him, why I turned on him when it seemed like he'd truly turned away from that. But if he was rescued … then whoever rescued him will be under his protection, if they aren't already."

He didn't understand the importance of that truth. Not yet. But all people, regardless of their training, have a single basic weakness: make them believe that they're alone, and they're far easier to manipulate. Even loners like Slade. And what Grant was trying to do was manipulate his father. Slade wasn't alone on the outside. Grant could kill whoever he was working with … but that would backfire on Grant in ways he never dreamed of. And as all of this occurred to her, Adeline realized something else: she still loved Slade Wilson. It was hidden for a time by her anger with him for choosing ASIS over them, but she never stopped loving him.

At the same time, she was also aware of something else. She didn't have a future with him. They'd both changed so much in the last decade, even without the poisonous influence of the Mirakuru. So, out of respect for that love, she needed to protect their youngest son in a new way. So … knowing full well what would happen, she added smugly, "You silly boy … you've lost and you don't even know it yet. Obviously, the future version of me didn't teach you very well. Or maybe she did, and you didn't listen. Maybe you inherited that from your father … there were times when he didn't listen."

Grant's eyes darkened and she braced herself, just before he backhanded her across the face and sent her flying backward. Her vision grayed, but as she braced herself for another blow, _her_ Grant jumped up between them, screaming, "Stop it! Leave her alone!" Adeline shook off the dizziness, wiped away the blood, and found her baby boy standing before his alternate self, almost trembling with rage. And for a moment, she saw not eleven year old Grant, but twenty-one year old Slade, standing protectively between Adeline's thirteen year old sister and an upperclassman who thought she should be grateful for his attentions.

Oh, he was much smaller and had none of the confidence her Slade had at that time, but the lines of his shoulders, his stance … all of that was pure Slade. For a second, she saw who Grant could become. Then she looked past him, to his future/alternate self … and she saw who this boy could have become. For the first time since he took her and her son from their home, he wasn't angry or smug. No, as he stared at his younger self, he looked stricken. And then he fled from the room, shouting orders that Adeline was suddenly too tired to make sense of. She lay her head down on her arms, closing her eyes.

"Mum?" Grant asked, and now he sounded like the frightened little boy he really was. Adeline opened her eyes and forced herself to sit up, opening her arms to her child. Grant hesitated only briefly, and then threw himself against her chest, knocking the wind out of her. But she enfolded her little boy against her body, resting her chin upon his head as he cried, sobbing out over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

She kissed the top of his head, murmuring, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Grant. You didn't hurt me. You didn't hurt your father. You protected me, and I am so proud of you." He stilled in her arms for a moment, but it wasn't until much later that Adeline would remember that Grant hadn't seen Slade being beaten, and hadn't known that his future self hurt his father. For now, she said softly, because her child needed to know this, "You didn't do anything wrong. Just now, you reminded me so much of your father when I first met him."

"That's who I want to be like, Mum. No matter what Joe said, I knew Dad had to be good at some point, if you married him and had me and Joe with him," Grant said earnestly and for a moment, Adeline couldn't breathe, and a new path opened up in front of her. Oh. Oh, of course, how could she have missed it? She tightened her arms around her son, who added, "I don't want to be him, Mum. I want to be good."

"Oh, Grant. You don't have to be him, not if you don't want to. You can make a choice … you do have choices. His mum … the woman I could have become, she chose to stay bitter and angry with your dad for choosing to go on a mission. And even when she learned about the hell he went through, she was still bitter and angry, and she chose not to forgive him. She chose to try to turn their children against their father. But that's not the choice I'm making right now. You can choose to be like him, Grant, or you can choose to be yourself. You have that freedom, you are not chained to his fate."

Grant pulled back to look at her, and Adeline smiled at her little boy, saying softly, "Would you like to know how I met your father?" Grant nodded so hard, she was a little surprised that his head didn't come off his shoulders, and Adeline scooted them both back until they rested against the wall. Holding her youngest child in her lap, Adeline began, "I was twenty-three, and was picking up my little sister at school. Her actual given name was Narelle, but I always called her 'Rose' because that was her middle name and she looked more like a 'Rose' than a 'Narelle.' Anyhow, I get to the school, to find a confrontation. There's my poor little sister, looking scared out of her mind, and this Year Twelve trying to get in her face, and between them is this young bloke, dark haired and dark eyed. He had his arms folded over his chest, and this mulish expression on his face. And my little sister called him Sergeant Wilson … your dad."

Grant's eyes went wide, and with a smile, Adeline continued, "He was in the Australian army, though he was getting restless. I recruited him for the agency where I worked until you were born." And fell in love with him. She didn't think Grant was ready to hear that she seduced him into bed even as she was recruiting him for the ASIS, even though that so-very-young Slade believed that he seduced her. With her son's smile warming her heart, Adeline began telling him more stories about his father, about the man she would always love.

DSDSDSDSDS

Doctors Without Borders Camp

Aleppo, Syria

She opened her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings … but then again, she hadn't had eyes to open in more than twenty years. What was the last thing she remembered? Rebecca Merlyn closed her eyes again, trying to focus on what she remembered. She'd been working with Tommy and Shado, trying to anchor Tommy enough so that he could reach out to Malcolm. If she'd had a body, she would have classified the next sensation as a wave of dizziness, and then … nothing.

"Veronica! Estas despierto!" an unfamiliar voice exclaimed. Two things struck her … first, she was being called 'Veronica.' The second thing was, she understood what was being said. She was awake. But she hadn't taken Spanish in school, she'd learned French. The exchange that followed left her reeling with shock. It seemed that her name was Dr. Veronica Morales. She was forty-three years old, a member of Doctors without Borders, and in Aleppo, Syria. Two days earlier, they'd been attacked and she was badly injured.

But it wasn't until her colleague (or rather, Veronica's colleague) Javier told her that her heart stopped that she began to understand what likely happened. While time on either side of the veil had slightly different meaning, Rebecca was fairly certain that at the same time she was being ripped out of the afterlife, Veronica Morales died. After being admonished to rest, Rebecca quieted her mind, trying to ascertain if Veronica Morales was still here. She had to be, in order for Rebecca to understand anything more than the rudimentary Spanish she'd picked up over the years. But all Rebecca could pick up was the faintest echo of another woman's consciousness … and the knowledge she retained.

Even though none of this was Rebecca's choice, she still apologized to that ghost, and promised that she would honor Veronica in any way she could. Over the next few hours, she rested and viewed Veronica's laptop. It made her more than a little uneasy … she was in Veronica's body, but she wasn't Veronica, and she really didn't have the right to view Veronica's life, when she'd stolen so much from her already. But her practicality reasserted itself over her uneasiness. She had no more say in this than Veronica did, and her protestations that she wasn't really Veronica would land her in the mental ward. If she wanted to honor Veronica, and help other people, she had to pretend to be Veronica … and that meant viewing her life.

So, she began to read over the papers she had on her laptop, journal entries in many cases. Not just of what was happening around them, but of the patients she worked with. After that, she turned her attention to Veronica's emails, which made her even more uneasy, since that was even more personal, even more intimate. But it proved to light her path forward, when she came across a name that looked familiar. It was listed as 'Meg Anderson.' Again, Rebecca hesitated. The odds were against it, after all. But … it was worth a shot, wasn't it? Rebecca clicked the email to open, and gasped a little.

' _Hola, Veronica! Imagine my surprise when, after years of being unable to find your address, I get an email from you! Thank you for mentioning how we met in the subject line, otherwise I would have deleted it. Wow, I can't believe you emailed me. Yeah, I'll probably be saying that quite a few times over the course of this email, I'm that stunned. In truth, I've been thinking a lot about that summer over the last few years, but even more during the last few weeks, but I'll get to that in just a few minutes._

' _Uhm, you asked about my life in general. I've been living in Destine, Missouri for a little over twelve years now. It's a small town not far from St. Louis. I have a fifteen year old daughter, Angel. My husband died several years ago … his name was Stephen, and he was a police officer. I don't think you met him during that summer … I want to say that he came into my life shortly after you returned to Ecuador. Up until about a month ago or so, I worked in a local law office. That's a mess that's … I don't have the words to explain it to you, so I won't even try. I now work part-time at a retirement home._

' _You asked about my father … yes, he's still in my life, albeit long-distance. We talk at least once a week, and I'm ashamed to say that I'm actually closer to him than I am to my mother. I know, you're not particularly surprised by this, but I really do feel guilty about the distance between us. My mother and I, I mean. She's not a bad woman … she wasn't even a bad mother, not really. I didn't put this distance between us … at least, I don't think I did … but I also don't know how to bridge it. I'm not the little girl she remembers, and I can't give her back the years she missed. From what Aunt Chloe tells me, she was misdiagnosed after I was born, and the consequences of that was her mental health._

' _And no, that's not a slam against your profession. I am … simply in awe of you, Veronica. Not only are you a doctor, just like you always wanted to be, but you're a part of Doctors Without Borders. Hopefully, I'm not overstepping my bounds, but I am SO proud of you! I'm not sure how much you can tell me without getting into trouble, but please, share whatever you can with me. Whatever you're permitted to, whatever you're comfortable with. I will listen to whatever you have to say._

' _I mentioned a few minutes ago that I've been thinking a lot about that summer you spent in Baltimore. About two weeks ago, a man came into a diner that my daughter and I frequent and has thrown everything into chaos. That sounds like I'm trashing him, but I'm not. He … there have been quite a few things boiling under the surface for almost as long as I've lived here, and his arrival has pushed everything up to the surface. He terrifies me in some ways … and excites me in other ways._

' _Yes, Veronica … for the first time since Stephen died, I'm attracted to someone. Remember how we laughed at that description of a man we came across? He's mad, bad, and dangerous to know? It kinda reminds me of Slade. That's his name. Slade Joseph Wilson. He's a few years older than us, and I think the proper phrase to use is, he has a somewhat checkered past. He's hurt people, done horrendous things. I won't say anything more, as that's not my story to tell. But … in spite of what he's told me about the things he's done, I find myself trusting him more than I've trusted anyone in a long time. Maybe because he told me? I don't know I just know …_

' _I just know that I want him to stay, as long as he can. I know that I trust him with the person I love most in the world. And I know I want to help him find what he's lost. And that it would be so, terrifyingly easy to fall in love with him. Yeah, he's definitely dangerous to know. I'm sure that sounds ridiculously stupid to someone who is likely in a war zone, but we both know I can be ridiculously stupid at times (see also: Jaden Murphy). Not entirely sure why I'm telling you all this, aside from the fact that right at this minute, I just need someone to listen to me. And you kinda have no choice. (rueful smile)_

' _Slade's getting ready to head out, so I'll make sure he has everything he needs. I … I am so glad you emailed me. I have wonderful friends here in Destine, but I have missed you terribly, dearest 'Ronica. Please, try to stay as safe as you can, and don't worry if you can't email me back right away. Your safety is far more important to me. Te amo, mi amiga querida._

 _Siempre,_

 _Meg_

Upon finishing the email, Rebecca sat back, blinking away tears. She had a choice to make now. She had no idea what force tore her out of the afterlife and placed her in Veronica Morales' body at the moment her heart stopped. But that didn't matter. She had a choice in what she did in her borrowed body. She already knew from Javier that due to the injuries she suffered, she would be taking a sabbatical while she recovered. Slade Wilson was in Destine, Missouri. That was where Rebecca would now go. Not just because it seemed that Dory's Other Self was correct about the town being a nexus … but because she sensed that she was needed there.

She thought of her son, and quietly prayed that she taught him enough in the time they'd been together to do what he needed to do. But Tommy was a grown man now, not a little boy of eight. She had to trust him. Taking a deep breath, Rebecca hit 'reply,' and began typing. Veronica was gone, but there was enough of her left to say what needed to be said. She began, _'Hola, querida … I was overjoyed to hear from you! We have so much to catch up on, but time to do it. I was recently injured, and will be taking a sabbatical whilst I recover (I am fine, you are not to worry about me!). I have decided to visit you during my recovery.'_

She continued the email, responding to Meg Carvalho's email before concluding, ' _te amo_ , _tambien, mi hermana querida_.' She hit 'send' and lay back, closing her eyes. Rebecca was well aware that she might be playing into the hands of whoever removed her from the afterlife … but her instincts told her that she was on the right path.

TBC

Additional author's notes: Translations are as follows (for anyone who doesn't speak Spanish):

Estas despierta! You are awake!

Hola! Hello!

Te amo, mi amiga querida: I love you, my dear friend.

Siempre: Always.

Te amo, tambien, mi hermana querida: I love you, too, my dear sister.

Also, in case you're interested, face claim for Veronica/Rebecca is Patricia Velasquez (Anck-su-namun in the _Mummy_ movies). Still figuring out Adeline.


	3. Chapter 2: Turning a Disadvantage

Author's Notes: No, this story has not been abandoned. I just haven't had the energy to work on it. However, this coming week is the last of the semester, and despite certain issues that cropped up at work, I am truly looking forward to it. It's been a long month, a long semester, a long year, and honestly, I'm glad to see the end of 2018. I'm hoping 2019 is much better. I'm also leaving for Houston the day after Christmas, something I'm seriously looking forward to. This is a shorter chapter than I intended to write, but Slade, as ever, has his own ideas about how to do things … and I listen to what he has to say. For those who are curious about the mental health issues of Meg's biological mother, I'm still working that out. Clare is a bit cagey about that part of her life, and she never told Meg what exactly was wrong with her … something which did far more to damage the relationship between them than her actual illness. In the previous chapter, in her email to Veronica/Rebecca, Meg lamented the deterioration of her relationship with her mother. On the other side of that, Clare does love her daughter … she just has no idea how to reach out to Meg, as much due to guilt as her certainty that Meg doesn't need her. After all, she has Chloe and she has Bastiaan … she doesn't need Clare. The time is coming when she'll realize how wrong she is about that. In any event, in this chapter, Slade and Meg discuss what comes next … and Slade comes to a VERY uncomfortable realization. We should see Adeline and baby!Grant in the next chapter, and hopefully Rebecca as well.

Chapter Two

Turning Disadvantages Into Advantages

St. Luke's Memorial Hospital

Destine, Missouri

Early January 2018

Late Afternoon

A small body lay curled against his own, shifting every few seconds, as if trying to get comfortable. Which, he supposed, she was. They'd been terribly … active … earlier that night. He smiled to himself and rested his hand over the hand covering his heart, trapping it in place. There was a soft grumble of protest, but the movement stopped, allowing him to relax. He'd never imagined he'd be allowed to have this again … even for a season. He'd never imagined that he'd ever feel right again, sleeping beside someone who seemed so soft, so fragile. But … as he reminded others quite often, assumption was the mother of all failure. He'd made assumptions, about what he could have and about the strength of the woman beside him, and … why was he hearing beeping?

Slade slowly drifted back to consciousness, his awareness expanding outward from the sound of the machines monitoring his condition, to the sensation of fingers curled around his own, to the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and finally to the various aches and pains in his body. Right. He was in hospital … not only did he remember that fact, but he remembered how he ended up there, and he remembered the last time he was conscious-remembered waking up in the hospital to find Meg Carvalho beside him.

He (very) briefly wished he could go back to sleep, even if he wasn't sure who was curled up beside him in his dream, but dismissed it half a breath later. That would get him exactly nowhere, and his son needed him. Even if he hadn't seen Adeline standing in what he privately called the observation tower, he would have known that she was involved at some point. He recognized the drug … recognized how it made him feel as soon as it entered his bloodstream, and the only person who knew just how effective it was … was Adeline. Whether she was behind his capture or was a captive herself, he wasn't sure. He just knew that Grant needed him.

A quick glance to his side told him what he already suspected … that it was Meg who was holding his hand. She'd fallen back to sleep sometime after he did, lines of fatigue etched into her face, and guilt flared in his soul. She'd been worried about him. Slade wasn't entirely sure how to define his relationship with Meg. He knew that he felt some sort of tug toward her, but whether it was attraction or something else, he wasn't entirely certain. And given his past, he was afraid to find out. But she did matter to him … she and Angel both. He debated for a minute whether he should wake her up, and then decided it would be for the best if he did. She couldn't be terribly comfortable like this (and no, he wasn't going to pull her into bed beside him. Even if he wasn't sure he was attracted to her, he knew that she was attracted to him, and that wouldn't be fair to her). Instead, he gently tightened his fingers around hers.

There was a mumbled protest and once more, Slade tightened his fingers around hers, murmuring her name at the same time. That got more of a reaction … her fingers tightened in turn and her dark head raised from the bed. She blinked a few times, before smiling at him sleepily and murmuring, "Slade. Hi. How are you feeling?" He thought briefly about telling her the complete and unvarnished truth … like he'd had the shite beaten out of him … but decided that would just worry her more (even though she knew he'd been beaten. And that the kid who laid into him the worst tore his shirt so he could see the bruises he was leaving on Slade's torso). Or as Angel liked to say when he snarked at her, 'not helpful.' He pointed out that he didn't have to be helpful, only to be reminded for the umpteenth time that she was a teenager. Like he could forget that?

Instead, he answered Angel's mother (wincing at how hoarse he sounded), "I hurt, but I'll live. You okay?" She nodded, blinking sleep from her eyes. She rubbed at her face with her free hand (and no, it hadn't escaped Slade's notice that she wasn't letting go of his), before resting her cheek against their clasped hands. She didn't seem to be aware of what she was doing … she really didn't seem to be aware of much of anything at the moment, and Slade decided against bringing it to her attention. He'd learned that something like that would embarrass her and he didn't have the energy for her blushing apologies when she figured it out.

"Yeah, 'm okay. Glad you are. We were worried about you. You said the last time you were awake that you found Grant and Adeline … well, that you saw Adeline in the observation tower?" Meg asked huskily. Annnnd, again, she reminded him why he was coming to care for her more than he really should. He nodded, wincing a bit at the pain in his head. Meg was silent for a few minutes as she processed that. At last, she asked, "Do you think they're still there? Since whoever was holding you has probably figured out that you've been rescued?"

"Unknown. Could go either way. Personally, I think it's smarter to stay put … there's a strategic risk every time you move a hostage, and I'm not sure if it's a risk. It could be, too, that Adeline isn't a hostage at all," Slade answered. Meg frowned, and Slade explained, "I've told you in the past that as an operative of the ASIS, I was trained to withstand interrogation and torture. Part of that is becoming resistant to most drugs, building up a resistance to them. There's a downside to that, when I was injured … I was resistant to most sedatives, so they developed a sedative that could put me under."

"And that's how your captors took you down," Meg guessed. Slade inclined his head, and Meg continued, "Which means that they got it from an ASIS operative … of which, your wife was one." As Angel would have said, nailed it. Meg was silent for several moments, before her dark eyes flickered back to his face, and she asked, "But you don't think she's willing, you think she's a captive. Why?" Slade started to ask what she meant, but stopped … because while she was the wife of a cop, she wasn't an ASIS officer, and more than that, she didn't know Adeline.

"Because if she was willing, she would have been on the warehouse floor to confront me," Slade answered honestly. Meg nodded thoughtfully, before lapsing into silence once more. Slade didn't mind. It gave him time to order his thoughts. It … Oh. Hell. He said, "The three who took me down … I recognize them." Meg looked at him, startled, and Slade told her, "It was the three kids who tried to jump me on my first night in Destine, a few weeks back." Meg's eyebrows climbed into her hairline.

However, all she said was, "Well. That's problematic." Slade would have rolled his eyes at her penchant for understatements, but his head was hurting again. There was a buzzing sound, and he thought for a moment that it was coming from inside his skull, but Meg reached over to the table that sat beside him. Oh. It was her mobile. She smiled slightly, saying, "It's from Angel. Lindy just picked her up from school, they'll be here in about twenty minutes. Slade, if you're in pain, I suggest you ask for medication … I've seen Angel when she's worried, and she's been worried sick about you."

… So noted. Meg continued, her voice growing softer, "So, we're operating under the idea that Adeline is a captive, rather than a conspirator, keeping in mind that she may still be a conspirator. Grant's safety is paramount … so how do we get them out?" Slade arched a brow over his eyepatch, and Meg added a bit impatiently, "Slade, sweetheart, right now, Angel could take you without trouble … you'll need help if you want to rescue them, so I say again: how do we get them out?" Slade really wished he could tell her that she was wrong … but she wasn't. And looking into the determined face of the woman who gave him shelter and succor, Slade realized she would help him in any way she could. More to the point, any protestations that he couldn't ask her to help would be met with a firm, ' _you're_ _not_ _asking_. _I'm_ _offering_.'

There was also the distinct possibility that she would get herself into trouble, trying to help. This way, he could direct her desire to help toward something that wouldn't get her or Angel killed. He sighed, "Very well. Whoever has them … I suspect they won't be pleased when they figure out that I'm no longer their prisoner. I have to figure out a way to use that to our advantage. Actually … you know how you can help whilst I'm recovering?" Meg eyed him cautiously, and Slade went on, "Find out what you can about the warehouse where I was found. Who owns it, how long it's been abandoned."

Meg actually smirked at him, responding, "Oh, I can tell you most of that right now. Remember, Slade … I used to work in a law office. The partner I used to help the most specialized in real estate law. So, I can tell you who owned it originally, when it was abandoned. I can even tell you that about six months ago, it was bought by a firm that apparently specializes in revitalizing old buildings. What was the name of it? It was a bit on the odd side, kinda reminded me of something out of that old tv show _Angel_ … Wolfram, Hart, and something or other. Wolfman-Kane … that was it."

Slade's heart skipped a beat. Joe had been using the name Kane Wolfman. Was it possible? Meg tilted her head slowly to one side, asking, "That name means something to you … doesn't it?" Slade didn't answer at first, couldn't answer at first, because it didn't add up. Why would Joe hold his mother and little brother hostage? Especially since the last intel Slade saw indicated that Joe was in Austria.

However, Meg was waiting, rather patiently, for an answer, and Slade answered slowly, "Kane was my wife's maiden name. Wolfman … it was an alias that my oldest son used in the past. May still use, I'm not sure." Meg's eyes widened with that, and he could just see the calculations that were going on inside of that head of hers. By now, he knew that her own past was hardly the source of Hallmark movies, but she'd had an aunt who adored her and an uncle who was there when he could be. Which was to say, she knew quite well how messed up families could be.

"Are you thinking that this is a shadow corporation your oldest is using?" Meg asked, but before he could answer, she murmured, "But if that was the case, why would he be holding his mother and brother hostage? That's the part that doesn't make any sense to me. And if it really was him, wouldn't he have confronted you as well? You mentioned that your ex would have come out to confront … by which I'm sure you mean taunt … you. I don't know much about your relationship with Joe, but based on what you said about the last time you two saw each other …"

Slade huffed a laugh, and immediately regretted it as pain flared in his injured ribs. But he forced it back, because that was what he did, even when he was no longer on the island. Instead of focusing on the pain, he answered, "I don't believe it's Joe … the last I saw, he was in Europe … but it's someone connected to Adeline, somehow. She had a younger sister, but Rose died not long before I ended up on Lian Yu." In truth, the death of his young sister-in-law accelerated the destruction of his marriage to Adeline. Looking back now, he could see that, but at the time, he knew only that Adeline was running hot and cold, that he wasn't being the kind of father that Joe needed, and that he was grieving for Rose as well. Finding Yao Fei … that was something he could do. And look at how well that turned out.

"Let me do some more digging, see what I can find out. But, Slade …whatever happened? People make their own decisions. You may have influenced those decisions, one way or another, but people make their own decisions, and they have to own that. You've owned up to your mistakes, and have been trying to set things right … not just for your younger brother, but for everyone else who got caught in the crossfire. Don't take their responsibilities away from them, that's not helping them. At all," Meg said quietly, her dark eyes intent on his face. Slade offered a half-smile, suddenly feeling very tired.

"When Joe was thirteen, I took him to Milford Sound in New Zealand. It was a father-son camping trip … which also doubled as a mission. It was supposed to be just about him and me. He asked me if I was really an airline pilot. I gave him a half-truth. I can fly planes … and land them safely, don't smirk at me, Meg. But I didn't work for any airlines. There was a Chinese operative who was there at the same time, who knew where a contact of mine was being held. While Joe was eating, I … intercepted this operative. We struggled, and I ended up killing him. What I didn't realize was that Joe had followed me … and saw the whole thing. I turned my son into a killer," he answered, totally prepared to get a full-on Meg-blast.

What he got, instead, was a huffed, "Bullshit." Slade looked at her, startled not just by her reaction, but by her language. He didn't remember ever hearing her swear before, and again, Meg said, "Bullshit. You did no such thing. Did you do something stupid? That probably wasn't the smartest thing you could have done, no. And yes, our children learn from watching us. But if that turned Joe into a killer, then there was something else wrong with him." Slade started to speak, but Meg waved him to silence.

Her lips trembled, but her voice was steady as she said, "When I was eleven, my mother was … having a spell. Aunt Chloe … there were times when she had to go away. She actually did work for an airline, you see, and while most of the time, she could remain at her home airport, on occasion, she had to travel. When she did, she always made sure that my mother had her medication, and made sure that I had her contact information. This time was no different in that respect. But this time, after choosing not to take her medication, my mother decided that we needed more groceries. She really wasn't supposed to be driving, so I stalled her as much as I could. Of course, since I was eleven, she figured out what I was doing, and threatened to go alone. I couldn't let her do that, so … I got in the car with her. At first, everything was fine. Except … when we got ready to leave, my mother thought that someone cut her off with a shopping cart. And that was unacceptable to her, totally unacceptable."

Slade wasn't sure why, but his chest began to tighten, even before he saw Meg's eyes were misting over. She went on hoarsely, "I remember, it was a bright, hot day. Mother … she got to our car before the other woman got to hers. I was crying and pleading with her to stop, so she left me at the store front. I knew something bad was about to happen, but people just ignored me, thought I was just being a spoiled brat because I hadn't gotten something I wanted. My mother watched where that other woman was going and after she put away all of her groceries, slammed into the back end of her car … where the woman's five year old son was sitting. She'd underestimated the time she needed in the store, and wanted to get back to her son, so she wasn't paying attention to what was around her. Again, not the smartest thing she could have done, all the way around … but her son almost died because my mother …"

Slade closed his good eye, quietly horrified. Meg went on, forcing him to open his eye again, "I saw all of this from the store front. I watched my mother plow into the back of another woman's car. I heard that woman's screams as she beat on the windows, trying to get to her son. And finally, finally, someone listened to what I was trying to tell them. They got that little boy out of that car. And then, my mother was arrested. She was arrested, and they called my uncle Brady to come get me, at least until Aunt Chloe got home."

By now, tears were rolling down her cheeks and Slade, not knowing what else to do, curled his fingers around hers. He was never good at comforting … Shado (beautiful, kind Shado) was much better at it. But Shado was long-dead, and Slade was the only one here. So he squeezed her hand, not knowing what to say. Meg licked her lips and brushed away her tears with her free hand, saying, "I was eleven. Two years younger than your son was. Are you responsible for your kids? Absolutely. But they're also responsible for themselves after they reach a certain age. My mother … your son … my daughter … myself … we all know the difference between right and wrong. He made his own choices. Just as my mother did. Just as I did."

The words hung between them for several moments, and then Slade asked softly, "What happened in the end?" He wasn't even sure it was important, but he wanted to know. Clarissa Anderson traumatized her eleven year old daughter just as badly as he obviously traumatized Joe. So what was the difference? Was it simply that eleven year old Meg knew that her mother wasn't someone to emulate, something thirteen year old Joe hadn't realized yet? That almost sounded like he was blaming his son.

Meg sniffed a little, before answering, "I was removed from my mother's custody immediately, no matter how much she screamed and begged. And oh, how she screamed and begged. I was her little girl, they couldn't take me away from her. I remember … I remember the judge told her that she'd already placed my life in danger, by choosing to drive when she was supposed to be on medication. She … she said that the medication, she didn't take her medication that morning. And he told her that … that she made that choice. Not just that, but not once during this entire mess did she apologize for what she did. Not once did she show remorse. She blamed the medication, she blamed the lack of medication, she blamed the other woman, she blamed Aunt Chloe for being away. She blamed me, for crying and making it harder to think."

Slade wasn't quite able to bite back the growl that crawled up from his throat. Over the last few weeks, he'd come to realize that Sissy had no use for Clarissa Anderson. Oh, she'd never said a word against Meg's biological mother, but he quickly realized that Sissy didn't like her. He was beginning to understand why. It didn't get better when Meg added in a distant voice, "I wonder about that sometimes, if she was right. I know the other woman … I think her name was Julie … she told me that it wasn't my fault. My mother almost killed her son. But she didn't blame me."

"Because it wasn't your fault, in any way, shape or form, and your mother had no business trying to blame you for her actions. And even if your crying made it harder for her to think, it's still on her, because she didn't take her sodding medicine that morning. She owns …" Too late, Slade realized the trap she'd just placed before him (worse yet, it wasn't even intentional). He mumbled, "Bloody hell." Meg only blinked at him, as if not sure what he was talking about. He closed his eye for a minute before adding, "All right, you've made your point, love."

Meg blinked a few times before offering him a watery, sheepish smile. They were silent for several moments as Slade reeled from what he just learned and Meg composed herself. At last, Meg asked softly, "What do we do now? I admit, I'm not a scary bad-ass like you, but it seems to me that we need more information, and I'm not sure how to do that." Slade exhaled slowly, wincing at the twinge in his side, his ribs protesting even that slight movement. He hated to say it, to even think it, but Meg was right about him needing help.

"You said that you still have contacts within that law firm you used to work for?" he asked finally, and Meg bobbed her head. Okay. He went on, "See how much they're willing to tell you." His companion smiled unexpectedly, and Slade was suddenly very worried. The fact that Meg was smiling didn't worry him. The way she was smiling, on the other hand? That was outright terrifying. One thing he'd learned about Meg during the last few weeks … her cat-ate-the-canary smile was never a good sign for someone.

"Remember, darlin,' you're in a small town. The lawyer I used to help? All I need to do is tell him the truth, that you were found in that particular warehouse," she answered. Ahhh … good point. However, there was something she wasn't considering. Not that he cared, for himself, but he didn't want her or Angel in trouble or in danger. That, of course, was when she dropped the other shoe, adding, "And, as far as my in-laws on the force are concerned, if I share that information with them, and don't try to interfere with the investigation, there's no cause for concern. Unless we want it to be."

It was a measure of how the sedative was still affecting Slade three days after being injected with it, that it took him a few minutes to realize what she was saying, and when it did … He stared at her in horror, answering, "No. Absolutely not, you are not offering yourself as bait." Meg opened her mouth, no doubt to defend her position, but Slade went on, getting angry at the very idea of it, "We'll find another way. I am trained for this, Meg. I spent years training in the Australian military and in the ASIS, not to mention those years on Lian Yu. You have no training, whatsoever. No. Not an option."

"We need to make it an option, Slade. Not because I want to, because God knows it scares the hell out of me, but because if we don't, whoever has your son and ex may take the choice out of our hands. By now, whoever captured you has figured out that you're gone. If they haven't yet, which I doubt since your ex had a front row seat to those three dingbats beating the crap out of you, they will soon. Is it possible that they'll assume you escaped? I suppose, but more likely, they'll realize that you were rescued … which means outside help," Meg argued. Slade opened his mouth to answer, until he realized she was right. Damn.

However, he stood by his previous statement. She wasn't trained, so how had she figured that out? He suspected that she wouldn't tell him if he glowered at her (for some reason, he didn't frighten her, and he still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or bad)… which meant that he needed to ask her directly. Huffing a little (and he really needed to stop doing that, his ribs were seriously not happy with him right now. None of his lower torso was, really), Slade asked, "How did you come to that conclusion? Not saying that you're wrong, but how did you get to that particular argument?"

Meg, not so surprisingly, blushed and answered, "Uhm, I overheard Troy Everett and Andrew Perkins talking while you were unconscious, and Troy worrying over my safety and Angel's." Slade started to speak, to apologize for putting her and her daughter in danger, but Meg shook her head, adding, "If the next words out of your mouth are to apologize, don't bother. You staying has protected us more than leaving would have. We just have to figure out how to turn this to our advantage." She was silent for a moment, a wistful smile touching her lips as she eventually added, "That was something Stephen always used to say … find a way to turn a disadvantage into an advantage."

For some reason, Slade thought of a spoiled young man who washed up on the shores of an island, with no training until he met Slade himself … who still managed to disrupt the operations of one Edward Fyars. Oliver had done that. Yes, Slade gave him the tools to do it, but Oliver did that. Slade's training (coupled with training from Shado and Yao Fei) helped to turn Oliver into a weapon. He wasn't interested in turning Meg or Angel into weapons, but she was right. Everett and Perkins were right. Whoever had him captured would realize soon that he was gone, and more to the point, that he was rescued. They would also realized that he was rescued, and so, wasn't alone on the outside. Which meant that whoever rescued him … or befriended him … became a target. He could deny that … or he could, as he had once before, teach someone how not to die. Turn a disadvantage into an advantage.

"We already have an advantage. This is our home territory, we know it better than they do. However … you're one hundred percent correct. You and Angel are already targets. Now, I'm not using you as bait … not you and not Angel. But, I'm not adverse to creating a plan that we can implement, if it becomes necessary. So, while we wait for your daughter, let's put our heads together and see if we can't figure out a way to turn this potential disadvantage into an advantage," Slade answered. Meg's smile was like the sun coming up. Nothing was resolved, except Slade's determination to rescue his youngest child … as well as protect the mother and daughter who opened their home to him.

TBC


	4. Chapter 3: Changes

Author's Notes: So, I realized while I was working on the second section that I inadvertently wrote myself into a corner after reviewing the general recovery time for people with Slade's injuries. Hmm. What to do? I couldn't see anyone (read: Slade) waiting six weeks to rescue Adeline and baby!Grant, but the Mirakuru is out of Slade's system. Except … something occurred to me. Keep that in mind as you read it. So, the semester is over, and I'm off until January 2nd, which means my trip to Houston is in two days and I now have a lot more time to write. Trust me, I've been taking advantage of it. In addition to my various stories (not just this one), I'm nearly done with an original short story which I hope to submit to a magazine in the new year (just as soon as I finish it and get the formatting fixed. Ugh). And yes, if I have the opportunity while I'm in Texas, I'll be working on this … Monday through Thursday, my hotel has a Wine 5 function in the 'living room,' where local wine is served and the guests socialize, so I may be doing that on Wednesday and Thursday. For some reason, wine is very good at unlocking my creativity. In any event, in this chapter, Shado and Tommy get some good news; Slade has enlightening conversations with both Angel and Meg; while more cracks appear in Grant's plans … some physical as well as metaphysical.

Chapter Three

Changes

 _Eurgh. I'm with Angel. Those two need to seriously stop dancing around each other. They're starting to make me dizzy._

Gulong Shado's lips quirked as she listened to her compatriot rant _,_ before answering sweetly _, You know, you could always watch over your father again. I'm sure that's **far** more entertaining than listening to Slade and Meg's conversation. _The lip quirk turned into a full-on smile as Tommy Merlyn grumbled behind her. Truthfully, she thought the relationship between the former mercenary and widow was coming along nicely, considering they'd only known each other for three weeks. Neither trusted the other completely, but that was all right … because Shado trusted Slade to do right by Meg, and she trusted Meg to do right by Slade. They would get there eventually.

In the meantime, it was an entertaining way to torment her companion, who acknowledged that Meg wasn't his type, but even he could tell that Slade cared a lot more about her than he was willing to admit. And as for Meg … hello, Slade still had one working eye, how had he not figured out Meg totally would not say no to a roll in the sheets? Shado didn't bother to tell him that Slade was fully aware of Meg's attraction to him, even if she wouldn't acknowledge it (didn't want to burden him, was how she phrased it in her head).

To further aggravate Tommy, he and Shado could occasionally see flashes of some of the fantasies that danced their way through Meg's mind, much to the woman's mortification (she would be even mortified if she knew that someone could see those fantasies as well, even if they were ghosts, and Tommy, don't even _think_ about doing a visitation to tell her _that_ ). Shado had to give her credit, she had a truly amazing imagination.

Dory, who had just joined them, observed, "That's not going to happen any time soon, Tommy. Slade has far too many trust and intimacy issues, as the saying goes, and Meg doesn't have the self-confidence to make a move. It's been a long time since she was this attracted to a man, and she's frightened. More to the point, she doesn't want to make Slade uncomfortable … doesn't want to give him an excuse to leave."

 _He's plenty uncomfortable right now,_ Tommy pointed out, and if she could have, Shado would have rolled her eyes. Or swatted the back of his head. He continued doggedly, _Well, he is! Although, I suppose it could be worse. He could have a catheter … ow!_ He glared at Shado, who finally gave into the temptation to swat Tommy (even if it didn't work), only to find out that it actually did. Tommy actually sulked, _That hurt, you know. I already knew you were a bad-ass, Shado, you didn't have to … wait. That shouldn't_ _have hurt_.

"You're both still figuring out the rules for where you are. Tommy, focus on your mother's spirit. Don't argue with me, just do it," Dory ordered. Shado blinked at the current incarnation of her great-grandmother, because in all the time she'd known Dory, she'd never known the other woman to give orders. Shado could see that Tommy was surprised as well, surprised enough that he simply did as he was told, closing his eyes to focus on that one note in the universe's song that was Rebecca Merlyn. Shado watched curiously as his expressions changed … and then, his jaw dropped. Dory said with quiet satisfaction, "You found her."

 _She … she's back in the mortal world! How is this possible?_ Tommy stammered, opening his eyes. Shado swallowed a gasp, because Tommy was right. This shouldn't be possible, and despite herself, Shado was jealous (why Rebecca, why not her?). And Tommy wasn't finished, adding, _She … she seems different somehow. There's … something about her has changed. She still feels like Mom, but there's something different about her spirit._ Shado glanced at Dory, who was smiling faintly and nodding. In that instant, she saw not Dory, but her great-grandmother herself.

"We know that Rebecca was pulled out of the afterlife. What none of us realized was where she went, or how she got there. We still don't know the who, the how, or the why, but we do know the where. That change in her spirit that you mentioned, Tommy? That's the mingling of her spirit with the spirit yet clinging to her new body. Your mother's spirit was placed within another woman's body at the moment that other woman's heart stopped," Dory explained. Shado stared at her in shock … what? How was that possible?

Tommy opened his eyes and goggled at Dory as well, who continued, "I don't know how it's possible, or even how she knows, but Sevi'anna told me that was the case. Rebecca Merlyn's spirit was removed from the afterlife, and placed in the body of an Ecuadorian doctor named Veronica Morales. Dr. Morales was badly injured during an attack against a Doctors Without Borders camp in Syria … during the fight to save her life, her heart stopped, and whatever entity took your mother out of the afterlife placed her spirit within Dr. Morales' body."

Shado asked the question that she knew Tommy was also wanting to know, _What does this mean?_ All this time, they'd been working under assumptions that could be faulty. Rebecca's spirit was removed from the afterlife, and they had no choice but to assume that it was a hostile entity. But her spirit was placed in the body of a doctor. What if the entity wasn't hostile at all? Yes, yes, she was well aware of what Slade had to say about assumptions, thank you very much, but there were very few benign forces that were capable of removing a dead woman's soul from the afterlife and placing it in the body of another human being.

"I don't know, Shado. However, Sevi'anna suspects that this intervention is benign. There's very little we can do to help Rebecca right now, so we need to focus on this town. Shado, I know you want to watch over Slade, but right now, you need to focus on Adeline and Grant. Slade's in the very best of hands. Tommy, you need to work on reaching out to your father. Much as I despise him, I suspect we'll need him in the future, especially if your mother manages to get back to the States," Dory answered. Shado didn't like it … she didn't like any of it, but she knew Dory was right. There was nothing she could do for Slade, as he wasn't ready to see her (and Meg proved to be very good at Slade-wrangling in the last few weeks). And she knew for a fact that Tommy didn't like his assignment. But they had work to do, and they chose to remain in this part of the afterlife to watch over those whom they loved. Sometimes, that meant looking after other people. Centering herself, Shado _reached_ … and found herself in the warehouse where Adeline and Grant Wilson were held by a possible older version of Grant.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

Slade was almost asleep when Hurricane Angel blew into his room, and his jolt back to full consciousness sent shockwaves of pain through his body. He vaguely heard Meg snap, "Angeline!" There were tearful apologies from Angel, and other sounds he couldn't quite work out through the spasms of pain, and then cool relief. As the pain receded from his consciousness, Slade opened his eye (when did he close it?), he found Lindy standing at his bedside, watching him with concern. Meg and Angel stood on the other side, Angel trembling in her mother's arms, and Lindy asked gently, "Better?" Slade nodded before relaxing against the bed, and the ginger went on, "One of the other nurses stopped me on my way in, mentioned that you hadn't requested any painkiller since you woke up. Angel, your mom and I need to talk to the doctor about what kind of care Slade will need once he's released. Can you watch over him while we do that? Make sure he doesn't overexert himself or try to leave the hospital?"

Angel bobbed her head, still blinking back tears, and Meg said softly, "We'll be back in a few minutes. I know, honey … just think next time, okay? Ready, Lindy?" She kissed the top of her daughter's head, and paused at the door for Lindy. He hadn't known that Lindy was a nurse, though it probably didn't come up. He'd been answering more questions at the Christmas party the previous week than asking them (which seemed to be the norm in Destine). Angel remained a few steps away as her mother and temporary chauffeur left the room together. And she didn't move even after the door closed behind them.

It took Slade a few minutes to figure out why … when the truth dawned on him, he extended the hand that her mother was holding earlier to the teen, rasping out, "C'mere, kid." Angel hesitantly took his hand, and then fell into the chair her mother'd been sitting in earlier, burying her face in his shoulder, weeping, ' _I'm_ _sorry_ , _I'm_ _sorry_ ,' over and over again. For just a second, for the second time that day, he wasn't in a Missouri hospital, but back on the island, because Angel reminded him so much of Oliver, it took his breath away. Slade closed his eye, suddenly missing his brother desperately. He turned his face into her hair, whispering, "It's a'right, kid. It's a'right."

Angel cried herself out, her head resting on his shoulder once her tears were spent. She was quiet for several moments, but Slade learned the hard way that was when she was most dangerous. At last, she whispered, "We were so worried about you, Slade. Mom told me that if you weren't home by Sunday, we were putting you in our Book of Intercessions. I asked her if you would be okay with that, and she told me that while she didn't generally believe it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, she'd make an exception in this case." That made Slade smile, as he suspected it was intended to make Angel smile.

"No need to ask for either. I'm sorry I worried you," he answered, closing his eye. They were both silent for several moments, but the silence was different this time. It was charged, as if there was something Angel wanted to ask, but wasn't sure if she should. Slade didn't prod at her, as he learned from past experience that the girl would have to ask, or she would end up bursting. But as the moments passed and the atmosphere became more charged, Slade realized he would have to give her permission. With a small sigh (small enough so that his ribs didn't cuss him out), he said, "Ask. You're giving me a headache, kid, so just ask."

"I … I'm not sure how to ask. I know you're hurt … Mom and Lindy explained how badly you were hurt. But ... How were they able to take you down?" Angel asked. And then Slade understood. She wanted to know about his captivity. But how did he tell a fifteen year old girl about something like that? He wasn't her father, and he had no idea what Meg wanted her daughter to know. At the same time, was he helping her by protecting her from the evil in the world? After the mistakes he made with Joe, he wasn't inclined to trust his own parenting instincts.

In the end, while it wasn't the way he did things, he sugar-coated it. Angel didn't need to know what it felt like, having fists pound into your body, of the exhaustion that settled over you once the infliction of pain ended, leaving only the pain itself. She didn't need to know about the nights he hung there by his wrists, struggling to focus on things other than the horrific pain, or the way he sometimes struggled to breathe. She didn't need to know about the threats the main pummeler issued to her and her mother, of what he would do to them, and Slade wouldn't be able to stop them.

In the end, he told her, "They got access to a drug that was keyed to my DNA … used a tranq gun. I woke up in the warehouse, to find the three kids who tried to attack us at the petrol station on the first night I was here surrounding me. My wrists were chained together, and the chains hung from a hook attached to the ceiling. And all three of them took part, whether it was restraining me or hitting me. The big one ripped open my shirt, so he could see the bruises he was leaving. Did they hurt me? Yeah. But I've been hurt far worse before. They were amateurs." He wasn't bragging. He was stating a fact.

And Angel was staring at him, tears running down her face. She whispered, "I'm sorry." Slade wiped away her tears with his thumb, before slipping his hand around to cradle her skull, and drawing her head down to rest against his shoulder once more. With Angel settled, Slade closed his eye. The plan was actually to get some rest … of course, all plans need to remain fluid. That was this case this time as well, as the door slowly opened, admitting Lindy (who looked like she'd been poleaxed) and Meg (who was frowning thoughtfully). Angel raised her head at the sound, asking, "Mom?"

Meg smiled reassuringly, saying, "Lindy tells me that you left your book bag in the car. Go ahead and get your homework, Slade and I need to work out what to do when he's released from the hospital. Everything's fine." Except … it wasn't, not really, and Slade wasn't entirely sure what was wrong, what would have Lindy staring at him as if he was … something other than human. Or not who she believed he was. Neither possibility made him particularly comfortable. However, he released Angel's hand as the girl rose to her feet and quietly followed her 'aunt' from his hospital room, leaving her mother and him alone as the door closed behind them.

Meg sat in the chair her daughter just vacated, still studying him with that thoughtful expression. Slade returned her gaze, and Meg finally said, "You were brought in about six hours ago with broken ribs and some internal bruising, some contusions. There were times when they weren't sure if you'd survive. Oh, your heart never stopped, but seeing the injuries …" She paused, and Slade waited, uncertain where she was going with this. Things were to become devastatingly clear before too much longer.

Meg took a deep breath before continuing, "That internal bruising, those contusions … they're healing. Lindy and I spoke with the doctors. The internal damage that the beatings did? They look like they're days old, rather than hours. You're healing, Slade … at a far more rapid rate than … is normal. The doctors want to keep you here a few weeks, but I talked them into a few days. I … I need the time to get a main level room ready, but I'm not willing to risk you. I trust the doctors and nurses, but it only takes one person to let it be known that someone with unusual healing abilities is here. I won't risk you that way. But Slade … do you know …?"

Her voice trailed off, as if she wasn't sure how to continue. So, Slade did it for her, saying, "How it's possible that I'm healing so quickly? I shouldn't be." Meg lowered her eyes, and Slade said quietly, "That drug I told you about? What my brother and our friend gave me when I was so badly injured? It had healing properties … and it drove me insane, like I told you, turned me into a monster. I went after Oliver, because I blamed him for our friend's death. Wasn't his fault, of course, but I was too angry, was hurting too badly to care. You know all of this. What you didn't know was that … during a fight in his city, the kid stuck me with an antidote. It took away the superhuman strength. It didn't take away the madness. And apparently, it didn't take away the healing abilities, not completely."

That was the only thing he could think of, that while the superhuman strength vanished with the antidote, and the madness eventually dissipated, the healing factor remained, at least to some degree. Meg exhaled slowly, before saying, "I got Dr. Prestwick to agree to release you the day after tomorrow. No, don't argue with me, Slade. I need time to get your things moved into a main level room." Slade closed his mouth with a snap, because yes, he was fully prepared to argue her into getting him released today (even though he recognized it wasn't really a good idea. He was capable of compromising, when it was necessary. This qualified as necessary). Meg sat back, murmuring under her breath about which room would work. Slade left her to it, closing his eye. Healing quicker than normal people was fine, but he was still exhausted.

But Meg wasn't finished, saying softly, "We were talking earlier about advantages, and turning disadvantages into advantages. I wonder … your healing ability? Would that be an advantage in this case? I suspect the people who took you won't expect you to heal so quickly." Slade's eye popped open and he stared at his companion in surprise. Meg, for her own part, was looking at him tentatively. He ran the possibilities through his mind … and then he _smiled_.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

"So. He's been staying with a widow and her daughter here in town. Sounds like the plot to a bad Western … but it's a vulnerability. One we can easily exploit."

Grant Wilson stood with his back to his underlings, staring out of the window. Dillon didn't know if he thought it made him look dramatic, or if he just enjoyed the view. Truth be told, he didn't really care. He didn't care much for Grant Wilson, period. But this is where his family was, and the instinct that guided him from the time he was a child told him that he needed to be here. Maybe it was to protect the woman and child who Wilson was holding, he didn't know. Besides. He had nowhere to go.

And he didn't say anything. He was never really expected to say anything. Grady didn't listen to him, and Braden … Braden went along with whatever Grady wanted. That was an oversimplification, of course, but Dillon didn't have the energy to sugarcoat anything. He hadn't wanted to join the gang, but Grady did, and while his and Braden's father charged Braden with looking after Grady, Dillon's own father charged him with looking after Braden. Which meant he had to join the gang, because … ugh.

He hadn't wanted any of this. Not the initial attack against Slade Wilson (as Dillon now knew his name to be) or on the mother and daughter he was staying with. He hadn't wanted to join up with Grant Wilson, but Grady did, and what Grady wanted, Grady got, damn the consequences to himself or anyone else. And this time, Dillon feared, the consequences were damning indeed, for all three of them. But most especially for him.

He had the terrifying feeling that he wouldn't survive what was coming, especially since he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to. Grant Wilson was slowly vanishing. Dillon witnessed it earlier … saw his hand disappear and then reappear moments later. Worse yet, Wilson knew that he witnessed it, and Dillon saw death in his eyes. He couldn't be permitted to live, regardless of what it meant. But if Dillon was going to die, he was damn well going to take Wilson with him. The older man now said, "What else can you tell me about this woman?"

Grady answered, "She's the widow of a cop, has lived in town for most of our lives. She used to work at a law firm, lost her job around the time your dad got to town, and works for a nursing home now. Goes to St. Joe's. Maybe able to use that, her priest doesn't like your dad too much, thinks he's a trouble-maker." Dillon rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth shut. He'd learned over the last several weeks that his input wasn't required. He was to keep his mouth shut and do his job, whether that was holding Slade Wilson's legs while his cousin pounded his fists into him or taking food to the woman and kid being held hostage.

"Hmm. Being a cop's widow could be problematic. They tend to be very protective of each other's families. What about the daughter? You said she's fifteen … is she involved in anything?" Wilson asked. Dillon shifted and Braden looked back at him, a worried expression on his face. Dillon really wished his cousin would stop doing that. He was going to get them all killed if he wasn't careful (assuming Grady didn't do it first). Not that Wilson was currently paying attention to them. He only did that if one of them actually spoke or tried to interfere.

"She plays soccer. We're still scouting out the practices to see when the best time to grab her would be," Grady answered. Yeah, no, that wasn't going to happen. Dillon paid more attention than either of his cousins did … those girls didn't go anywhere without each other, and it really wasn't worth their while to grab a second person. Besides, had either of them seen the way Angel Carvalho kicked balls? She wasn't the star player, but he still wouldn't want one of those kicks aimed at anywhere on his body.

And Wilson had other ideas, saying, "No … no, trying to take her after practice would be foolish. Focus on soft targets, like when they're out shopping together or something like that. That way, we can use one as leverage against the other. And make sure to do it within the next two weeks, to ensure that my father is still in hospital, so he can't intervene." Oh, it was scary when his mind worked along the same paths as Wilson! Not cool at all! Wilson added, "Oh. And do not … I repeat, you are not to hurt either Margreet Carvalho or her daughter. That will only anger my father and ensure that he won't listen to me. If you need to drug either of them, that's fine, but you are not to harm either one."

That was more than okay with Dillon, although he could tell Grady wasn't happy about it. There were times when he would swear that his cousin liked hurting people. Maybe that was why their respective fathers insisted that someone be there to watch out for Grady. Maybe it wasn't so much protecting Grady from his worst impulses, but protecting other people from Grady. That actually made sense to the young man, far more than the ridiculous notion that people might take advantage of Grady. Yeah, no … that would never happen. Grady was the cocky s.o.b. who hurt others because they 'disrespected' him, whatever the hell that meant. Dillon didn't really care what it meant, up until the time it got him into trouble (yeah, he probably should care more than he did, since it got him in trouble. A lot).

Braden seemed pleased with the orders from Wilson as well, even if Grady wasn't. Then again, despite his desire to go after the mother and daughter initially as part of their challenge, Braden didn't really like hurting people. Dillon's sense of his cousin was that they could scare Meg Carvalho and her daughter, and it would have the same effect. He was wrong, of course … but they hadn't known that at the time. The younger of Dillon's cousins answered, "We'll make sure of that, Mr. Wilson. You figure even if she's inclined to fight back, threatening her kid will make her back down?"

There was a soft snort from the man in front of them as he replied, "Of course. It worked with my mother, and she has far more training that some dowdy American housewife. She's no threat to you three. Just threaten to open her daughter's throat in front of her, and she'll fold like a bad hand of cards." That, Dillon wasn't sure of, but he wasn't about to say so. If he opened his mouth, he risked placing a woman who'd never hurt them in danger … something he knew he couldn't live with. He just wasn't sure yet if he was strong enough to risk his life for someone he didn't know, didn't really care about.

Wilson turned then, adding, "Oh. And when you bring them to me? I will have them checked over. If either of them have been harmed, if I find so much as a bruise on either of them, I'm taking it out of the hide of whoever failed to obey my instructions. My father has always believed in keeping his promises … so I will make you this promise now. If you fail to do as I say, I will end you. Now go. Gather your data. I need to talk with my dear mother again." The cousins moved toward the door, but before they took even a few steps, Wilson added, "Not you, Dillon. You'll be coming with me."

Dillon stopped in mid-step, looking from their boss to his cousins, wondering what the hell he'd done to attract the man's attention. Braden inclined his head toward Wilson, as if to say, 'you heard the man, go on.' Dillon rolled his eyes, but obediently fell into step behind the man. They walked in silence for several moments, before Wilson said quietly, "You don't want to be here. You don't like me, you don't approve of what I'm doing. But you stay. Out of loyalty to your cousins." Dillon forced himself to keep walking despite his surprise.

"I hadn't realized it was that easy to tell," he replied at last, struggling to keep his voice steady. There was a small snort from the man in front of him, but they kept walking. Dillon went on, "Is this the part where you threaten to kill my cousins if I don't do as you say?" Wilson stopped abruptly and turned to face him. Dillon quickly put on the brakes to keep from running into the man, who was staring at him very seriously.

"No, kid. This is the part where I tell you what you probably already know. That you're probably going to end up getting yourself killed, trying to protect your cousins, trying to prevent them from doing something incredibly stupid. This is the part where I ask you to switch that protection from your cousins to the boy we're holding … the boy I'm holding," Wilson answered. Dillon blinked, because really? Yeah, he wasn't telling him anything that he didn't already know, but what was this about protecting the kid? Wilson huffed a laugh, adding, "I know that you've seen my hand phase in and out of sight. That boy we're holding? He's me. I'm from the future. My mother has started changing things … I changed things, by taking them. By the end of the month, I won't exist."

Dillon's brain stuttered to a stop, because … really? His boss was from the future? That wasn't possible! But … he remembered again the sight of Wilson's hand vanishing from sight. And he kept referring to the woman they were holding captive as his mother, when she was his age or maybe a little older. He whispered, "You're from the future." Wilson nodded, and Dillon fought the desire to repeat himself (because with his luck, Wilson would kill him for that alone). It was insane. It was impossible. It … made a terrifying amount of sense. Dillon finally asked the only possible question he could under the circumstances, "Why did you come back to this time?"

"A simple question, with a not so simple answer. I came back to resurrect Deathstroke, the alias that was given to my father. You've seen Star Wars right, and Darth Vader's desire to rule the galaxy with Luke Skywalker as father and son? That was what I wanted. I wanted to bring back Deathstroke, I wanted … I wanted to punish my father's enemies, and make them regret ever hurting Slade Wilson, ever betraying him. That's what I did in my own time. I punished a man whom my father took under his wing, whom he taught and protected, and who betrayed him," Wilson answered. Yes, Dillon was with him so far.

They began walking again, Dillon having to hurry to keep pace with the other man, who went on, "Except, from the moment I kidnapped my mother and my younger self, I began changing things. Each threat I've issued against my mother, my younger self grows more and more unlike me. She tried to make me hate my father, in my timeline. Now, she tells my younger self stories about him, about how she first met him. He was protecting my aunt from someone who didn't take 'no' for an answer, you see. My father, at his heart, is a protector."

Not that different from Dillon's own father, when all was said and done. Wilson was silent for several moments, before saying, "It's too late for me. I can't stop what's been set in motion. Even now, I have two sets of memories battling for dominance in my head … the original timeline and the one I created when I came back. I remember hating my mother for the lies she told me about my father, and I remember the stories she's now telling my mini-me. I can't stop what I started. All I can do is mitigate the damage I've done. I'm reassigning you, Dillon. Your job, from this point on, will be to protect my younger self. You can't protect your cousins any more. You can't even protect Meg and Angel Carvalho. But you can protect him."

With those words, he opened the door to the observation tower where he'd been holding his mother and his younger self for the last several days, since his father was brought here. Grant Wilson paused and looked down at the floor, saying softly, "Human beings are neither totally good nor totally evil, neither one hundred percent protector or predator. We're all a combination of both, Dillon, no matter how you define those terms. Remember that." With that, he gave Dillon a gentle shove between his shoulder blades, propelling him into the room and closing the door behind him.

Adeline Wilson was on her feet immediately, moving between him and her son protectively. He raised his hands placatingly (because with his luck, she'd kill him sooner than the future version of her son would) and said, "My name is Dillon. I've been assigned to protect you. Please don't kill me." The younger version of his boss giggled, and despite his certainty over the last few days that he would die … Dillon had the sudden, irrational belief that everything would be okay.

TBC

Additional Author's Notes: Okay, so … a few things. First, yes … some of the Mirakuru remains in Slade's body. Not a lot, not even enough that could be measured. Not enough to drive him crazy, not enough to provide him with superhuman strength, just enough so that his body heals a little faster than normal. Secondly, the source of the Mirakuru is still on my mind. I know … the Imperial scientists developed it during the Second World War to create an army of super soldiers, but they had to start with some kind of base. I want to delve into that, at least at some point. Finally: future!Grant. Yeah. He's realizing that when you go into the past and start changing things, don't be surprised if things change. So, he's running around with two sets of memories, body parts that disappear, and two loose cannon underlings. Is this a good thing? Not necessarily. It's a pretty good that the two sets of memories will drive him crazy … Mirakuru crazy, complete with hallucinations. Right now, during his conversation with Dillon, he's seeing clearly. That won't last. He knows it won't last. So, he's taking steps to protect his mini-me, before he's too crazy to care that killing his mini-me also kills himself. As for Dillon, I haven't decided what's going to happen to him and his cousins (I don't even know what they look like, which is a bit exasperating). Dillon, I know, is on the short side ... he's in his late teens, around eighteen or nineteen, and at most five six.


	5. Chapter 4: Change of Perspective

Author's Notes: Writing can be funny at times. Not funny ha-ha (although that, too), but funny strange. I'll stare at a blank page, and want desperately to write something, anything. I'll get a paragraph written, and it'll just sit there for days. And then, there are the days when the words just keep coming. Those are my favorite kinds of days. It doesn't matter how much noise in the background (or foreground), it doesn't matter what's going on around me, the words just keep coming. And as long as the words keep coming, as long as I have that outlet, the pressure inside my soul doesn't get overwhelming. So, in this chapter, we have reaction from a character I've really not allowed to speak; Angel learns a few things; and Slade calls Oliver. With regards to the conversation between the two brothers … there is going to be very little about what's going on in Starling City, aside from William settling in. It's going to be almost entirely about what's going on in Slade's life. Oliver's been worried about his big brother, and as I muttered to myself when I watched their exchange at the beginning of ' _Lian Yu_ ,' regardless of what's happened, these two have never stopped loving each other. Oh, they'll never say it … but it doesn't make it any less true. And speaking of family, yeah, I've given Meg a younger sister. In the next chapter, Slade leaves the hospital, Future!Grant reacts to his father's escape; and a project that Tommy, Shado, and Dory have been working on bears fruit … the Magician makes his entrance.

Chapter Four

Changes in Perspective

Destine, Missouri

A few hours later

A person could spend her entire life, seeing the world in one way … and then all of a sudden, without warning, something would happen or a fact would be learned, so that view would come to a screeching halt … or get flipped on its head and sent spinning around like a top. That was what happened to Lindsey Walker when she and her dearest friend (and biggest pain in her ass, aside from her children on some days), Meg Carvalho tracked down the doctor in charge of Slade Wilson's care, Fergus Prestwick. Even now, nearly an hour after that meeting, Lindy was trying to wrap her mind around what he told them, what he showed them. Slade Wilson was brought to the hospital with severe blunt force trauma injuries, to his head and to his body. But the scans and the x-rays that he showed them … it didn't track. How was it possible that he healed so rapidly?

What was worse was the thoughtful expression on Meg's face as she and Lindy walked away after Meg convinced Dr. Prestwick to release Slade from the hospital in a few days (she needed time to get a room set up on the main level, because apparently, Slade was sleeping in a room in the basement). It would have been over-stating things to say that Meg didn't look surprised by the scans Dr. Prestwick showed them … she was … but that surprise was quickly replaced by something else. As if she knew something that Lindy didn't. Which really shouldn't surprise her, since she lived with Slade, but … something still seemed off. And as the two headed back to Slade's room, Meg explained that some years ago, Slade was badly injured in an explosion and was injected with an experimental drug. She wouldn't say anything more, explaining that it wasn't her story to tell (in other words, to Meg, saying anything more would be breaking Slade's trust). The implication was, that experimental drug was responsible for his accelerated healing. As a nurse, Lindy was worried about the larger implications. Accelerated healing was wonderful … but what was the price of that?

And because she was Lindy, because she was her mother's daughter, she just had to mention that to Meg. Her friend hesitated, before saying softly that there was always a price. She wouldn't say anything more, but it was then that Lindy remembered something … something that might be important. Andrew Perkins, who moved to the town a few years back from the Pacific Northwest, and how haunted his eyes were when someone mentioned Slade Wilson's name. And in one of those rare occasions, Lindy chose to step back from the abyss that was yawning at her feet. She honestly wasn't sure what frightened her more … the possibility that Meg didn't realize how dangerous Slade Wilson was, or the possibility that she did.

To her own dismay, she found herself eyeing the bedridden man with more than a bit of trepidation. Also to her dismay … he noticed, but rather than look angry, he looked only confused at first, then concerned. That … made her even more uncomfortable, and she found herself breathing a little easier as she left the room with Angel. The teen wanted to get her books out of Lindy's car, and Lindy … Lindy wanted to make sense out of what was happening. Besides, she had a husband and children to feed, and she couldn't do that from the hospital.

Back when Slade Wilson first arrived in town, nearly a month ago (it seemed so much longer than a month), Lindy had teased Meg for her worries regarding Slade. He was a dangerous man, a man she barely knew. Meg saw him in action, first against Gordon Alexander, and then later at the gas station when those three kids attacked them. She knew, far better than Lindy, just how dangerous Slade Wilson truly was. And now, so did Lindy. She imagined what something with special healing properties could do, and she shuddered.

As she began preparing dinner for her family, Lindy thought about what she should do. More to the point, should she do anything? There'd been a light in Meg's eyes when she explained about that experimental drug … an expression that warned Lindy that the woman she'd known for the last thirteen years wouldn't take it lightly if Lindy betrayed her trust. As much as she wanted to go to Andrew Perkins or someone on the police department, she had to trust Meg, had to trust that she knew what she was doing. And she did. The other woman wasn't being reckless, which probably scared Lindy even more. She wasn't being reckless, she knew exactly what she was doing. She … Lindy stopped what she was doing as something occurred to her. Meg was committed to helping Slade, just as Lindy herself was committed to her husband of fifteen years, just as her mother was committed to her step-father. Would Lindy do any less for Justin? Would Mama do any less for Greg?

Feeling a bit dizzy, Lindy put the pan down and leaned against the refrigerator, because that put an entirely different light on things. For years, she'd wanted Meg to at least start dating again. She wasn't dating, and while Lindy could tell from the way she looked at him that Meg was very much attracted to Slade, she wasn't in love with him (yet). But … given that, could Lindy do anything other than support her friend? No. No, she couldn't.

And if things fell apart, Lindy would be there to pick Meg, and Angel, up.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

In the end, Angel spent very little time working on her remaining homework at the hospital. Once she returned to Slade's hospital room, she'd been drawn into a conversation between her honorary uncle, Troy Everette, and Slade about his time as a captive. Her mom was also listening intently, and Angel tucked herself against her mother's side. Mom looked more relaxed, now that they had Slade back, but she was still worried. Whether it was because of Slade's injuries, or she was afraid that the people who took him would come after him again, Angel wasn't sure. In truth, she was afraid to ask.

And Uncle Troy had concerns of his own, as did Slade. Out of all of her 'uncles' and 'aunts,' Uncle Troy was her favorite, a tall, lean man with graying dark hair. He was actually closer to a grandfather than an uncle, as he was in his sixties. He actually mentioned on more than one occasion that he wasn't much younger than Angel's own grandfather, her opa Bastiaan. Still, he regarded Mom as a little sister, even though she was fifteen years younger than he was. But he was still on the police force, still training young cops or easing the transition of big city cops (like Officer Perkins or her dad). She'd asked him once about retiring, and he shrugged helplessly, saying, ' _time isn't right, Angel-girl … I'll know when the time is right_.' And that was the end of it.

He was most interested in the timeline Slade provided for him regarding his capture … and what Slade noticed while he was being held captive … less as a victim, and more as a fellow tactician, as Mom put it. He was especially interested in learning that Slade believed his ex-wife was also being held captive, as he noticed her in what he called the tower. Uncle Troy evidently understood what he meant, as he nodded. Then Mom completely blew Angel's mind when she mentioned what she learned about the ownership of the building and Slade's revelation regarding the identity of this Kane Wolfman.

Uncle Troy sighed, muttering under his breath something about being more careful about what he said and where he said it. Angel wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but her 'uncle' looked at Mom, saying, "So you're already involved, just by virtue of taking him in, and because of your work at the law office." Mom just smiled, a sneaky smile that Angel learned to fear many, many years earlier. Evidently, so did Uncle Troy, because he sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, muttering, "Okay, at least this way all cards are on the table." Angel wasn't entirely sure what that meant … wasn't sure she wanted to know … but she learned a minute later.

"Troy, you know that I'm a target now … just by virtue of living in this town, I'm a target, forget about me taking Slade in for a minute. This individual has been in town for months, far longer than Slade has. The difference now is, we're aware of it. How many times did you tell me that? The threat hasn't changed, our awareness has. But that means now we can do something about it, we aren't helpless," Mom answered. Uncle Troy just pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath … but when he looked up, he was smiling.

"Okay, kiddo. You got me. I need to be more careful about what I say around you. Stephen used to tell me that you had a terrifying ability to hold onto information mentioned in passing. I should have taken him seriously. Slade, you mentioned that you're sure that your ex-wife is a hostage, rather than an instigator, and that if she wasn't a hostage, she would have been down on the warehouse floor to confront you. You know her better than I do, kid, so we'll work with the idea that there are at least two captives. Do you have any idea who Kane Wolfman is?" Uncle Troy asked. Slade blinked at him, and Uncle Troy asked a bit warily, "What?"

But Slade smiled and shook his head, answering, "Nothing … it's just that usually, I'm calling someone else 'kid,' that's all. My younger brother, Oliver. Kane Wolfman … that was an alias that my older son, Joe, used. Kane is my ex-wife's maiden name. I don't think Joe is holding his mum and little brother hostage, but someone else who knows about Kane Wolfman _is_. Who that is … I don't know. I've made a lot of enemies over the course of my life, but someone using my son's alias … that doesn't feel right." Uncle Troy shook his head.

"Something like that could go one of two ways … someone implicating your older son, or someone wanting to emulate him. I'm thinking you believe it's the latter?" he asked and Slade nodded. Uncle Troy leaned back, folding his arms over his chest as he considered what Slade just told him. He went on a moment later, "Okay … starting now, we're going to consider you and the girls in protective custody. That doesn't mean we move you to a safe house … not in a town this size. No, what it means is that we'll have eyes on you at all times. Don't ask how we'll do that, I'm sure you can figure it out. I have a feeling they'll come after you again."

Slade nodded soberly, which meant he agreed, and Uncle Troy added, "When was the last time you called your brother?" The corners of Slade's mouth quirked and Uncle Troy muttered, "Been a while, huh. Okay. Double-check with your doctor, but the last time I heard, as long as you don't try to use your cell phone while they're running tests or taking blood or anything like that, you can use it. It's been a few months, but I don't imagine that's changed. Call him. Even if it's at the back of his mind, I know he's worried about you. You may be the older brother, but he's still protective of you."

"Speaking from experience there, Troy? I always heard you were the eldest," Mom observed and Uncle Troy smirked. Mom rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath about walking right into that. What that meant, Angel wasn't entirely sure, as her mother was an only child, aside from her (much) younger half-sister. Mom went on, "Okay, I'll give you that. The last time I talked to Sophie, she got angry on my behalf about losing my job … angrier than I was." Angel heard her mother's half of that conversation. Sophie (because there was no way in the world Angel was calling a woman who was only eight years older than she was 'aunt.') was extremely upset when Mom told her about the layoffs.

"This … doesn't surprise me. That entire situation confuses me … your father's ex won't have anything to do with him and didn't want her daughter to have anything to do with him, but she has no problem with your half-sister talking to you?" Uncle Troy asked, and Mom smiled ruefully. Yeah, put like that, it did sound confusing. Opa rarely spoke about his younger daughter, to the point that most people never realized he had a child other than Mom. Angel didn't understand it, but Sophie didn't seem to have a problem with it, and Mom told Angel that if Sophie was okay with it, then it was none of their business.

"Well, Sophie is twenty-three … her mother doesn't get a say in what she does anymore. To be fair, that's been the case for the last seven years. Plus, Anneke never wanted Dad to be part of Sophie's life … to the point that she didn't tell Dad about her until she was eighteen and Sophie forced her into it. He knew about me from the time I was five, even if he couldn't see me. And we're making Slade uncomfortable, so let's change the subject," Mom observed. Angel didn't miss the grateful look Slade sent her mother (or the small, understanding smile she sent in return), and the subject was changed to the best way to move forward.

Eventually, Uncle Troy left, and Mom and Angel remained for a time. They were finally shooed out a few hours later, as Slade was tiring quickly and neither Angel nor her mother had eaten yet. Aunt Lindy left not long after she arrived, looking more than a little disturbed by something that was said while she and Angel's mom were talking with Slade's doctor. On the way home, Mom stopped off at Sonic for dinner. She was quiet as they sat in their parking spot, munching on their respective orders. They wouldn't be able to clear out the spare bedroom in time for Slade's return home, which left them in a bit of a quandary.

Then something occurred to the girl. She asked thoughtfully as she finished her Route 44, "What about the dressing room?" It was what they'd always called the (enormous) walk-in closet … really, it was less of a closet and more of a room, and where her mom went to change whenever the steam in the bathroom got to be too much. Attached to both the master bed and the master bathroom, it was easily large enough for a man Slade's size to sleep comfortably … or, her mother, if she preferred to give the bed in the master bedroom to Slade. Her mom paused in mid-chew, humming a little under her breath.

At last, she swallowed and answered, "That's a very good idea. And we already have an air mattress in storage there, the one we almost never use. I just have some re-arranging to do, but I think that'll work. Okay, then, here's what I need you to do … I did say I'd need your help, remember … I'll need you to bring Slade's things up from the basement. He doesn't have much, and you can just leave them in my bedroom. We'll do some experimenting, and figure who will sleep there, but at least this way, he doesn't have to go down into the basement. Good work, kiddo." Angel blushed and ducked her head. It wouldn't take much time for her to bring Slade's belongings upstairs, and they never intended for him to stay in the basement as long as he had, but … things kept getting in the way. Life kept getting in the way.

"Mom," Angel asked hesitantly, and her mother looked at her as she finished the last of her tater tots, "do you really think those guys will come after us again." Mom was silent as she started up the car, and Angel heeded the unspoken command to buckle up. What she heard during her mother and Slade's conversation with Uncle Troy stayed with her. Mom, Uncle Troy, and Slade truly believed they were in danger. It wasn't the first time Angel heard that … like her mother, she tended to hear even when she wasn't meant to.

"They are young and proud, Angel … a dangerous combination," Mom said finally as she backed the car up and straightened it out before heading to the exit. She was silent as she maneuvered around the other cars at the drive-in, before continuing, "Twice now, Slade's gotten the better of them: first at the gas station, and then by escaping. I know … he was rescued. But he still got the better of them. He's embarrassed them, and they'll want revenge." As Mom pulled up to the stop sign, she looked directly at Angel and said, "They'll come after us again."

DSDSDSDSDS

After Meg and Angel left for home, Meg promising to return the following day with a brief brush of her lips across his forehead, Slade eyed the mobile resting in his lap. It wasn't his, but Troy Everette's … Slade's own was with Meg and Angel, bound for the repair shop, after it was damaged during his captor. The detective left it with Slade after it was confirmed that as long as there were no tests being run or someone checking him over, he could use it. The former mercenary was well aware that Oliver probably wouldn't pick up, since it was an unknown number … but he'd taken note of the phone in his room, and he'd leave the number with the kid.

Closing his eye, Slade smiled when he heard Oliver's familiar voice on the recorder and said, "Hey, kid … it's me. I'm in Destine, Missouri … long story, but I'm following Grant and Adeline." He paused, trying to figure out what to say next. And that proved fortuitous, because a breathless young voice picked up the phone (landline? He thought he dialed the kid's mobile) and called, "Dad! It's for you! Someone actually calls you 'kid,' that's funny." Slade rolled his eye, and nearly swallowed his tongue when he distantly heard Oliver answer in the affirmative.

"There is … your uncle Slade. I know you remember him, he stayed with us while Aunt Thea was in a coma," Oliver answered, before saying, "Slade … how are you?" Something loosened in Slade's chest at the sound of the kid's voice, who added after a moment, "And I heard something about Missouri, the search for Grant led you back to the States?" Slade smiled at Oliver's smooth transition.

"Destine, Missouri to be exact … and yes. I have reason to believe that Grant and Adeline are here," Slade answered. He paused, thought about what his next step should be. He knew his little brother, and knew Oliver would worry if he happened to hear 'hospital noises.' That meant he needed to be upfront with Oliver. The issue was, how did he say it? In the end, he went with the truth, because Oliver wasn't Angel, and he didn't need things sugarcoated. He went on, "I know this because I saw Adeline whilst I was being used as a punching bag. I'm okay … I will be okay, in hospital mainly for observation."

There was a quick indrawn breath, as if the kid was trying to decide whether he should offer to come out, and Slade added, "Kid, I'll be fine. It seems there was another side-effect of the Mirukuru … the insanity is gone, the super-strength is gone. But some of the accelerated healing remains. They'll be releasing me within a few days, and I'm staying with a local woman and her daughter. She … she's been helping me."

There was another long silence, but during that silence, Slade did hear Oliver release his breath. Then the kid said softly, "Tell me about her … tell me about this town." In those words, Slade heard an echo, ' _I want to talk about you right now_.' He could almost feel the cold concrete of the ARGUS prison under his bare feet, remembered the unexpected joy he felt when he heard his younger brother's voice. He'd told the kid on the island while they were looking for William and the rest of Oliver's family that he had to learn to forgive himself, and acknowledged that it was the hardest thing in the world. He was still forgiving himself … he'd forgiven himself enough to function, but it was an ongoing process. It likely always would be. But Oliver asked him a question, a question he could answer.

"Her name is Meg Carvalho, the widow of a police officer here in town, and the mother of a fifteen year old girl. Angel, her daughter, reminds me of you sometimes," Slade answered. There was a quiet huff of laughter, and Slade went on, "Meg used to work for a law firm in town, lost that job not long before I arrived. She's working part-time at a retirement home now, as a volunteer coordinator." And from what Slade heard from several of the residents he met when he went to the home to meet Meg, especially when her car was in the shop the previous week, she was doing a wonderful job.

"You like her," Oliver observed gleefully and Slade rolled his eye. The kid went on, sounding the boy barely out of his teens whom Slade first met, "You like her, I can tell. Details, Slade, I want details." Slade grumbled under his breath, but began telling his annoying little brother not just about Meg, but about Angel, and about the town. He told him about Giselle and Rusty, about Nina and Edward … about Sissy, about Lindy, about Andrew Perkins, and everything he'd experienced in the last three weeks. Not once did he address his brat of a brother's insistence that he liked Meg. Of course he liked her, he wouldn't be staying with her and her daughter if he didn't … but that wasn't what Oliver meant, as Slade well knew.

Could he? Like her the way Oliver inferred? Yeah. He could. She was nothing like Adeline, but Slade didn't expect her to be anything like his ex-wife. Adeline was Adeline and Meg was Meg. His focus was on his younger son, just as Meg's focus was on her daughter. When he found Grant … and he _would_ find Grant … he would figure out a way to be a better father to him than he was to Joe.

And Oliver listened. Teasing remarks aside, comments about what a great job Slade had done of raising Oliver on the island (before things fell apart), his little brother listened, to what Slade said and didn't say, about Meg, about the town, about Grant, about Adeline. He talked about the island, about Shado, about Billy Wintergreen before the island, things he'd never told the kid before. He'd only ever told the kid that Billy was Joe's godfather … he hadn't told him about the why, or what things were like before. He told him about the child Joe was, once upon a time. In truth, he couldn't remember the last time he talked so much.

At last, exhausted and in more than a little pain, Slade fell silent. Into that silence, Oliver said quietly, "Get some rest, Slade. I can't come right now, but if you need me, I will be on the next flight out. I promise you … and I learned about keeping my promises from the best." There was only warmth in his voice, and in light of that, Slade couldn't find it himself to feel guilty, despite what his promises (threats) had done to Oliver's life.

And when he drifted off to sleep, a few minutes later, Troy Everette's mobile resting in his lap, it was with Oliver's promise repeating in his mind. Meg liked to tell him that grace, that mercy, wasn't about what was deserved. It was a gift. That was as good an explanation as any for Oliver's forgiveness. He just wasn't sure he could give that same mercy or grace to whoever had taken his child and the woman he once loved. Slade was a strong person … he just hoped that when the time came, he could put the well-being of his little boy over his desire to make whoever took him pay.

TBC


	6. Chapter 5: Perfect Imperfections

Author's Notes: In which Deb realizes once more that she's an airhead, realizing after posting the previous chapter that, oh yeah, we already dealt with Future!Grant's reaction to his father's escape/rescue. D'oh (facepalm). The good news is, I have the ultimate source of the Mirukuru nailed down, and a clue to that is revealed in this chapter. I also borrow a character from another fandom, although she uses a different name here. That plays into the clue I mentioned a moment ago, after giving myself a headache doing research about potential sources. Anyhow. Uhm, I'm leaving for Poland in five days, and I'm trying to make sure I've thought of everything. I do _not_ want a repeat of the Murphy's Law that was last year's trip to the Czech Republic, even though there wasn't much I could have done to prevent the transportation issues that cropped up. Will I have the chance to do any writing while I'm overseas? I wouldn't count it out, but I also wouldn't count on it. There have been times when my mind overflows with ideas because of the eight hours sitting and thinking, and times when it stutters to a stop. Could go either way (although hopefully, I'll get some sleep this time). So, in this chapter, Slade returns to the Carvalho home; Grant has a brief, shining time of clarity; and the Magician makes his appearance.

Chapter Five

Perfect Imperfections

Destine, Missouri

Three Days Later

"Glad to be home?"

He made his way into the kitchen, glancing at the brunette tucked under his arm, supporting his weight. _Was_ this his home? Interesting question. Slade was still figuring that out. Was he glad to be out of hospital? That went without saying, especially since he ended up staying an additional day, aside from the two that was originally intended. But as he looked around the kitchen where he'd eaten dinner almost every night since his arrival, he had to admit that this could be home. Still, what he really wanted right now was to sit down … and as she seemed to do more and more, Meg apparently read his mind, for she added, "Let's get you into one of the recliners, so you can rest. We'll worry about the sleeping arrangements later."

"Should I get lunch started, Mom?" Angel asked. It was just about eleven thirty in the morning, and while Slade wasn't hungry, he knew he would be by the time Angel brought lunch in. Meg nodded, and Angel immediately turned to the cabinet, pulling out three plates. With her occupied (and that was probably what Meg was thinking), the adult female helped Slade into the living room, and then to the recliner that had become his favorite over the last few weeks. He was actually healing very quickly, but still had to take it easy for a few more days.

He sighed as he eased himself into the armchair, smiling a little as Meg fussed over him. She was doing a lot of that, he noticed. Even with her knowledge of his accelerated healing, she was still fussing over him … just as surprising, he found, was that he was allowing her to do that. Not just the covering up with the blanket (as she was doing now, draping an afghan over his lap), but the way she inspected the cuts and bruises on his face, gently grasping his chin and turning his face this way and that. Her eyes darkened whenever she noticed the scar beside his eye, but as yet, hadn't asked about it.

She was equally gentle when she eased the ointment on the bruises covering his torso. She'd remained in the room whilst the nurse dabbed the salve into his skin, taking note of what she needed to do. Slade pointed out that he was quite capable of taking care of that, thank you very much. Meg merely raised her eyebrows at him, and the nurse replied that while there was no doubt that was true, Meg could take care of the hard to reach areas (like his back). Slade really couldn't argue with that, so he gave in with as much grace as he could muster.

And he couldn't deny that it felt good, letting someone else take care of him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had done that (aside from when he was back at ASIS headquarters, and he struggled not to think of what he'd done to those men). Meg said gently, her small hand smoothing back his hair, "That's an interesting smile. What are you thinking about?" Rather than tell her the truth (because there were some truths he wasn't ready to share), Slade gave her a half answer as he opened his eye to look at the woman who already sacrificed so much for him.

"I was thinking about being on the island with Oliver. Long story … he'd gotten himself captured by the same man who tortured us both at various times, and I came to rescue him. Managed to do that, but got myself shot," Slade answered and Meg winced as she sat on the arm of the chair (something she'd told Angel not to do more than once, but always answered when Angel complained, ' _I'm the mom, I can do that_.') He opted not to tell her about Oliver digging the bullet out of his arm. As it was, she winced, mouthing ' _ouch_.'

"So what about it made you smile?" Meg asked. Good question. While she knew enough about his past to protect herself and her daughter, there was still a lot she didn't know (things she would never find out, if Slade had his way … and he probably wouldn't). But if he told her that those were actually fairly good memories (aside from the torture and the betrayal), she probably wouldn't understand. On the other hand … on the other hand, she understood about bittersweet. During his hospital stay, he'd learned a bit more about her rather odd relationship with Jacob Butler. He'd been the chief of police at the time of Stephen Carvalho's death, and always looked after the officer's young widow to the best of his ability. So when the bottom dropped out for the law firm, and he wasn't able to offer a job to Meg because there were others more in need, it did a number on him. In truth, while he occasionally accused Meg of not forgiving him, he really hadn't forgiven himself. Slade could relate.

"With the hell we both went through on that island … and later … that was actually one of the better memories. In a way, things were a lot simpler. We had each other to rely on, and despite what I always said about growing attached to other people … hell, the kid ignored me every time. In spite of everything that came later, he's never stopped coming back for me. In spite of everything I did to him," Slade answered at last. From Meg's small smile, he could tell that she understood far better than he anticipated.

"You know, my uncle has always told me that a perfect marriage isn't one where everything goes right all the time, but it's one where two imperfect people never give up on each other. More than once, I've thought that's true of nearly every relationship. I was only married to Stephen for five years, not nearly long enough to find out if that was true," Meg answered. There was a crashing noise from the kitchen, followed by muffled cursing (Meg lifted an eyebrow at Slade, who shrugged … he hadn't taught her any of those words), and Angel calling out that she was all right. Still, Meg murmured, "I should probably go check on her. Get some rest and don't worry about falling asleep." As she had each time she left the hospital before he was released, she leaned over to kiss his forehead, before hopping off the arm of the chair and sashaying into the kitchen.

Slade didn't know if he could fall asleep, but he would relax, allowing the recliner to take his weight and ease the aches in his body. With a soft sigh, Slade eased the leg rest up and closed his eye. Over the last few days, he'd fallen asleep so many times with Meg sitting beside him, so it didn't make him as uncomfortable as it once would have (Angel declaring them a team, on the other hand, would likely always make him uncomfortable. He didn't do well with teams. With a partner, yes … a team, not so much).

Thirty seconds later, as Meg quietly returned to the living room, he was sound asleep. He didn't see Meg's soft smile, or her cautioning hand as Angel returned to the living room with two plates in her hand. But that was fine, because those were things he didn't need to see. Not yet.

DSDSDSDSDSDSDS

His memories were changing. Hour by hour, his memories were changing with the past, and it didn't help him one bit to realize he had done this to himself. His … phasing out was happening more and more often, and his mother, damn her to hell, figured out what was happening and smiled at him knowingly every time he 'visited' her and his mini-me. If he'd wanted to take his own life, there were better ways to have done it.

When he'd come back to the past, to his own past, he'd been angry and bitter and defeated, burning with a desire to change his past and take down Oliver Queen once and for all. Unfortunately, rather than ending up on the island where his father met the young scion, he'd found himself here and now, when he was eleven years old and blissfully unaware of so much. He'd changed that … and now part of his memories included hating himself, hating what he would become. Yeah. Definitely better ways to commit suicide.

Memories of his original life, with his mother's bitterness, existed side by side with memories from what his mini-me was currently experiencing, and he was growing more and more unstable, both physically and mentally. During those moments of clarity, becoming more and more rare, he put more and more safeguards in place to protect his mini-me. Despite the new memories he now had, thanks to his mother's conversations with the younger version of himself, he had little regard for his mother's life. He wasn't sure if it was his own memories, his growing instability, or something else, but he simply didn't care about her. Not even her stories about when she first met his father could sway him. If she lived, she lived … if she died, she died.

He had also put safeguards in place to protect the boy, Dillon, as well as his father and the woman who had been sheltering his father for the last few weeks, helping him to find the younger version of Grant. He had no doubt that the brothers would ignore his charge that no harm was to come to the woman or her daughter, and suspected that once they were in his custody, he would find more than a few bruises. During a few verbal sparring sessions with his mother, he'd learned that some of her training involved first aid. If his instincts were correct (and he was sure they were), his mother would be able to care for the mother and/or daughter.

Grant also had the sense that when the brothers made their move to capture Margreet and Angeline Carvalho, they would end up taking his father at the same time. Their pride wouldn't allow them to do anything else … and if he was correct, that would be the end of them, and quite possibly the end of Grant as well. The future version, not the child (although, if they figured out who he was, they might go after him as well. Not that he had any worries … his mother was like a tigress, defending her young, at least in this version).

He also made contact with people in town, trying to get a feel for how his father was viewed here, as well as the woman who took him in. He learned that Slade garnered a great deal of support and good will by choosing to protect the widow who owned the local diner on his very first day in town … and followed that up with following the Carvalho ladies to the Breakfast with Santa event at the local fire department. The phrase he heard most often with regards to the later event was, ' _he's a good sport_.' Apparently, not just because he'd only just arrived and was helping out, but for putting up with all of the curiosity. Evidently, he was the first man Meg Carvalho demonstrated any degree of interest in since her husband's death, thirteen years earlier. (And he'd heard _this_ enough times to make him roll his eyes … like he cared about that?)

What he was hearing matched what his mother told his mini-me about the young sergeant she'd first met, all those years ago, when he protected a thirteen year old girl he didn't even know (the aunt Grant never knew, and never knew about until his mother told his mini-me about her … kind-hearted Rose who worshipped her big sister and adored her brother-in-law, whose untimely death at the age of twenty-eight drove a wedge between the two people she loved most, because neither of them could have protected her from what killed her). It also matched something Oliver Queen told him, just before he'd taken the older man's arm for taking his father's eye.

Grant froze, because he'd forgotten that. Forgotten the other man trying to talk him down, trying to … and suddenly Grant couldn't breathe, because now, he understood what Queen was trying to do. It wasn't about saving himself … it was about saving Grant. ' _I loved your father like a_ _brother_ ,' Queen said, ' _and my biggest regret is not trying to save him sooner_.' Oliver Queen had loved Grant's father as an older brother. He had loved Slade Wilson, and really never stopped, despite everything. He breathed, "Oh Lord … what did I do?"

And now, clarity was beginning to vanish as the bitterness and anger now began to rise again. But this time, it was different. Despite Grant's best efforts at holding onto that clarity just a little bit longer, the waves of anger, hatred, and bitter regret washed over his head again. But this time … this time, his mother and Oliver Queen weren't the only targets of that rage and loathing. This time, a great deal of that was directed at himself. Oliver Queen regretted his choices, many times, and now, so was Grant Wilson.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

Unknown Location

Approximately the same time

He opened his eyes. Blinked twice. Took stock of his surroundings … solid canvas supporting his back and shoulders, gray rock over his head, all extremities present and accounted for … and then rolled to his side, proceeding to vomit what felt like everything he'd eaten for the last twenty years. At last, exhausted, he rolled onto his back again … and it was then that he realized for the first time that he wasn't alone. A cloth dabbed at his mouth, and then his forehead, and a soft female voice speaking in what sounded like Sanskrit. There was the sound of feet on stone, then a scraping noise, and someone walking away, sounding very unhappy. Malcolm Merlyn could relate … for one thing, he was supposed to be dead. The last thing he clearly remembered was staring into his little girl's eyes as he took her place on that landmine.

For another thing, there wasn't a part of his body that didn't ache. He supposed that went back to not-being-dead, but really, he hurt all over. Which brought him right back to how he could be alive. The soft female voice he heard a moment ago said now, "Drink … I'll explain something once you've had some water." British, Malcolm identified. He opened his eyes to see a pretty, dark-haired woman at his side, holding a tin cup. With a shaking hand, he reached up to take it and took a sip, the cool water sliding down his throat. He took another sip, before handing it back and settling back on the bed. She accepted the cup, saying, "Good. I wasn't sure if you were going to be sensible."

"I can be, on occasion. How am I alive?" he asked, because really, that was the question that most needed to be asked and answered. He was going to die. He'd made his peace with that … which wasn't to say that he wasn't frightened or unsettled. He was. But his actions led to his son's death … he could never be forgiven for the part he played in Tommy's death, but maybe he could atone by saving Thea.

The woman offered a small smile, answering, "That is a very good question, and the answer is a very long story. The short version is … your work isn't done. Your decision to sacrifice yourself for your daughter was commendable, but death is far too easy for a man who has committed the sins you have. Both before the Undertaking and after. The sins against your children, against the memory of your late wife, against the people of the Glades. Your grief and rage is understandable. But be honest about it. It was not done for Rebecca, but for you."

Malcolm couldn't argue with that, because … it was true. Rebecca never would have wanted him to unleash hell against the Glades. Especially since he was partially responsible for her death. If he had just picked up the damn phone, if he had just put her first, rather than … a swat to his shoulder brought him back to his conversation with the unknown woman, who said rather crossly, "Stop that … you'll just start the whole cycle again, and I'd like to go home sometime within the next year, thank you very much. Like I said … I get it. You were devastated by your wife's murder, and furious that the people she did so much to help didn't do a damn thing for her. You couldn't blame her for being there in the first place, and you couldn't forgive yourself for being a human being, so you took out your self-loathing and fury on the next available target: the people who turned away from her, who wouldn't even hold her hand as she died."

He closed his eyes, because yes … she spoke the truth. In the beginning, he'd wanted so much to do something, to ease his guilt and helplessness, but over time, his fury, his disgust, his own guilt… Again, the woman swatted his shoulder, this time growling, "I said, stop that! Yes, you did horrible things … no, you can't bring those people back to life, not any of them, but if you get lost in your own guilt, you will never be able to function, much less make things right." She sighed and ran her hand over her dark hair, adding, "You can't go back to the person you were before Rebecca's murder. You can't be the Malcolm Merlyn who won her heart, who was the father Tommy's friends wanted as their own for the first eight years of his life, and you can't undo the damage you did to Thea. But you can forge a new path. Tell me something … how do you feel right now?"

How … what kind of question was that? How did he feel? She arched a dark brow at him questioningly, and Malcolm sighed. He took a deep breath and released it, focusing on … how he felt. After a moment, he answered slowly, "Empty. I feel empty." He opened his eyes and looked at her, not understanding. He'd never felt empty before … and maybe that wasn't the right word, but it was the only thing that came to mind. For more than two decades he'd been filled with grief, rage, hatred, and guilt.

The woman nodded, answering, "Empty … light? As if the darkness you let into your soul with your wife's death has been purged?" Malcolm blinked, and the woman went on, "When you were brought here, as part of the healing process, you were dosed with … well, the best way to describe it is as a detoxicant. It draws the hatred and bitterness within your soul toward it, bonds with it, and when you awakened, that was physically removed from your system when you retched, cleansing you. Not that your work is done … no, atonement is going to take far more time and energy than that. Believe me. I know."

Malcolm stared at her blankly for several moments, before stating flatly, ignoring her final sentence, "That's impossible." The woman arched both brows in answer, smirking at him. Having the sense that he was about to put his foot in his mouth all the way up to his hip, Malcolm nonetheless continued, "There is no such thing … if there was …" He stopped, thinking of Ra's al Ghul and what he would have done with such a drug. More than that, he thought about what he would have done with it, only a few short years earlier, giving it to Robert, to Moira, to Thea, to Tommy. The possibilities were endless … and terrifying.

"There are more things in heaven and Earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Malcolm Merlyn … I assure you, it is very real. It isn't native to this dimension, but to my own. Yes, I come from another dimension. I was told to consider this a field trip … helping you is to be part of my own redemption, my own atonement. I've committed sins nearly as heinous as your own. I destroyed my own life, I betrayed the trust of someone who believed in me, I killed so many people, whether directly or indirectly," the woman replied.

Malcolm opened his mouth, only to close it again. He thought of the drug he used on Thea, of the Lazarus Pits. Was a detoxicant that could draw that darkness in him to it, and then be removed so very hard to believe? Which brought him to the other part of her statement … the ugliness that was poisoning him was removed. His atonement was nowhere near over. He remembered his daughter's encounter with Slade Wilson on Lian Yu, some time after he was cured of the Mirukuru … he was cured, but the drug had been in his system for years at that point. It took far longer for him to detox and return to his right mind. The bitterness and scorn had been in Malcolm's system for over twenty years.

The woman smiled at him gently, saying, "Now you're starting to understand. The end product has been removed from your body. What led you to that point? That's where your atonement begins. You made a start when you chose to die to save your daughter. But it's only a start, and it's going to take a long time. People are going to distrust you … they're going to be openly hostile to you. You'll have to earn their trust, have to demonstrate that you can be trusted. You'll fall, but you'll get back up again. Whether you remember doing it or not, you chose to live. And now, you have to move forward … and in time, learn to forgive yourself."

Malcolm had nothing to say to that. He felt drained … drained of everything that defined his life in the years since Rebecca's murder. Even with that, though, he still wasn't sure he was capable of forgiveness … whether forgiving himself or forgiving those who refused to help his dying wife. Still, there was still one question that still had to be answered. He looked up at the dark-haired woman, saying, "You never did tell me … how am I alive?"

Because really, the question wasn't answered. The woman released a breath, before saying, "I work for an entity who wished to see you survive, because of your close resemblance to his youngest child. In terms of physical appearance, you and he could be twin brothers, though he is far stronger and far more compassionate than you are, to say nothing of being far more forgiving. He can be ruthless, but he uses that ruthlessness to protect others, not to benefit himself. My employer was unable to be there for his son for much of his life. And that is why you yet live. That, and in this case is the ultimate source of the Mirukuru … and humanity has a really bad habit of sticking its collective nose into places it doesn't belong."

The Mirukuru? But that was developed by the Imperial scientists of Japan during the Second World War! He re-considered that, because just because the woman was speaking Sanskrit, didn't mean they were in India. They could be in Japan. The woman merely smiled, saying, "The Mirukuru itself was developed in Japan, yes … but the most important part of the formula came from India. And it didn't come from a human being." She reconsidered that, before adding, "All right, he was half-human."

Now that, Malcolm wasn't touching with a ten foot pole. Despite all he'd seen, despite all he'd experienced, he had the terrifying sense that if he asked who 'he' was, she would tell him … and that her answer would break his brain. Instead, he focused on something far more mundane, asking, "What should I call you?" He was careful not to ask her name, as he knew so very well that names had power … and he suspected that she knew that as well. She smiled at him faintly, almost amused by his question.

"If you learn what you need to learn, I'll provide you with my name before I go home. For now … for now, you can just call me 'Kali,' because I am a destroyer," the woman answered. That made two of them. Kali added with a small smile, "You've been unconscious for nearly a year. I would imagine you'd like to bathe." That … would be welcome. Kali's smile brightened and she rose to her feet, saying, "I'll get that arranged. You'll bathe, and then rest, and we can begin in the morning." Her lips parted, as if she meant to say more, but after a moment, she shook her head and strode from the room. Suddenly exhausted, Malcolm lay back on the pallet, closing his eyes. He'd been unconscious for nearly a year. He thought about Thea, about Oliver, if his son's best friend was able to save his own son.

He was asleep before the last of Kali's footsteps died away.

TBC

Additional Author's Notes: So, who is Kali? Well, remember what she tells Malcolm about her employer's youngest child … think of the other role that John Barrowman is well known for, aside from Malcolm Merlyn. Whom would he know who might speak Sanskrit and have broken his trust? If you're not familiar with the show, don't worry about it … when it's time for Kali to go home, she'll reveal her name to Malcolm.


	7. Chapter 6: A Dim Reflection

Author's Notes: I am safely returned from Krakow! I had an amazing time … Krakow is such an awesome city, so very beautiful (especially Old Town, where I stayed). I would love to go back, but there are other places I need to go first. Next up on the list … New Zealand. My vacation time has been approved, and I have my accommodations arranged … staying at a beach house on North Island. My flights come next. I've never been to any of the Oceania countries, and since I turn fifty next year, that sounds like an amazing way to celebrate such a milestone. The following year, I'll probably return to Europe … my current thought is Munich, Germany. I've always wanted to see Neuschwanstein Castle, and that's a perfect base. Plus, my mother's family (the Kastners, which became Cosners once they got to the States) is from Konigsbach originally, which is a three hour train ride from Munich. So … this chapter. This chapter sees all hell breaking loose. Remember when Future!Grant told his three minions that his father, Meg, and Angel aren't to be harmed? Yeah, two of 'em didn't bother listening (are we surprised by that? Not at all). And with regards to this first part … nearly four weeks ago, our new church was dedicated, and as part of the Dedication Mass, the Knights of Columbus in our church wore their full regalia. Not surprisingly, Slade started talking to me, and I had my first section. So, in this chapter, Meg, Slade and Angel enjoy a day out; the cousins make their move; and Future!Grant comes face to face with his father.

Chapter Six

A Dim Reflection

Destine, MO

A week later

"So what was the deal with the guys in the Musketeer hats?"

Meg's lips twisted in a smile at Slade's irreverent question, though the irreverence didn't mask the honest curiosity. She answered mildly as she glanced into the rearview mirror, "It's called a chapeau, and they're Knights of Columbus. Today was a special occasion … most of the time they wear regular Sunday clothes." Slade's eyebrow arched over his eyepatch, and Meg explained, "Our parish is growing. You probably noticed the people standing up in the back. Figured as much, your head was on a swivel. Late last fall, the decision was made to build a new church … and today, they're laying the cornerstone for the new church. That's why the Knights were in formal attire."

It wasn't exactly Slade's policy to join her and Angel for Mass, but he was getting cabin fever after three days of sitting inside the house while his remaining injuries healed. He hadn't even been able to work on his motorcycle (which, she'd come to realize, wasn't about fixing what was wrong with it, but having his hands busy gave him time to think). It wasn't because his body wasn't up to it … it was. But both Meg and Slade were aware that they were likely under surveillance, and neither wanted their antagonist to know about Slade's faster-than-normal recovery … and the resulting cabin fever resulted in a somewhat cranky Slade.

As it was, there were … glances … from her fellow parishioners. And Father Rick looked particularly suspicious, but then, Meg was used to that from their parish priest. Apparently, he'd had another life before becoming a priest: not just another life, but another Life. Slade seemed to think that he'd been in the military, and as something other than a chaplain. Meg demurred at first, but the more she paid attention to things Slade pointed out to her, the more she began to think that her houseguest was onto something. She would have to corner Deacon Andy sometime in the next few days to get this confirmed. He knew Father Rick better than just about anyone, after all. And she wasn't asking for gossip, just confirmation of what Slade noticed. It wasn't the same thing at all.

In the backseat, Angel snickered, drawing Meg's attention back to the conversation, "I like his term better. They look like the Musketeers in the Iron Mask movie." Iron … oh. Right. _The_ _Man in the Iron Mask_. Meg had forgotten that Lindy showed that picture one night. Hopefully, it wasn't the Leonardo di Caprio version, although the musical score was amazing. Although, now that she thought about it, The Iron Mask might be a cool name for a super hero movie. She would have to ask Lindy about it … she was the one who was into super hero movies.

Meg shook her head, rolling her eyes. They always had this conversation whenever the Knights were in full regalia. Then again, she'd been no different when she was fifteen, even though her uncle was one of the Knights. She remembered blinking at her uncle in astonishment the first time he'd joined them at church before an Event … she remembered biting her tongue to keep from teasing him … remembered him rolling his eyes in exasperation and affection, ruffling her hair before they left for Mass as a family … Meg, her uncle and his wife at the time, and Aunt Chloe. There was a sudden pang in her heart as she thought of her uncle, and realized it had been a while since she talked to him.

Like his two older sisters, Grady Anderson moved to Baltimore the summer Clarissa met Bastiaan de Vries. He stayed, as Chloe did, when Clarissa realized she was pregnant, and although he argued that Bastiaan should know about his child, he still stood by his sister … and for the first several years of Meg's life, Uncle Grady was her father figure. It had been weeks since she talked to her uncle … Christmas time. Like her father, she hadn't yet told Uncle Grady about Slade (who, at the time, was wearing a somewhat bemused smile as Angel bossed him around). That, as she explained to Lindy when the pesky ginger asked about it, was a story she wasn't ready to share (Lindy, not unexpectedly, told her that she was just worried her uncle would tease her about paying attention to a man. She wasn't entirely wrong).

"Mom, are we still stopping by Kroger's? You said there were some things we were out of, or nearly out of?" Angel observed. Meg made a mental note to call her uncle as soon as they got home, because yes, they were starting to run out of food. Not because of Slade, but because she hadn't been grocery shopping for a while.

There were quick runs to the various Dollar stores, but that was about it. She answered, "Yup. Slade, my cell is in my purse … I have a shopping list on there. Did you want to come with us?" He hesitated, as he had when she absently asked him if he wanted to come with them to Mass, and Meg warned Angel with a Look to stay quiet. He wasn't comfortable being in public … more used to staying in the shadows … but he hated staying in the car even more. She added, "If you don't want to stay in the car, but don't want to come in the grocery store, there's a hardware store you can check out."

The lines of tension in his shoulders eased at that, and he answered, "Then that's what I'll do." He cast Meg a sidelong look, adding with a smirk, "Might find some things to secure your house." Meg rolled her eyes as she pulled into the shopping center. That was an ongoing theme with Slade. He swore up and down that her house was nowhere near secure. And he probably was right, but the last time it was 'upgraded,' was when Stephen was alive. It was a classic case of when she had the money, she didn't have the time, and when she had the time, she didn't have the money. While the retirement home said she was doing a great job, exceeding what they'd hoped for, they weren't going to be able to offer her full-time … in truth, they weren't going to have enough money in the budget to keep her even as part-time. She'd continue to assist as a volunteer, but at the beginning of the month, she would need to start looking for a new job.

That was one reason why she was going shopping now … get groceries now, while she was sure she could afford them. Angel said pertly, "Slade, you know we're in danger more when were out and about than when we're at home!" Meg glowered at her daughter in the rearview mirror. She hoped for all of their sakes that Angel hadn't just jinxed them.

Of course, she had.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

For all his teasing, Slade actually thought Stephen Carvalho had done a good job of securing his family's home before his untimely death, nearly a decade and a half earlier. What he hadn't done, his brothers (and sisters) on the force had in the years since. Still, Slade knew a few things that they didn't, and atonement could take many forms. He wanted to buy new locks for Meg's house, since the current ones were showing wear and tear. They'd need to be replaced within the year as it was, and he had no idea where he'd be in a year. He was here now, this was something he could do now … and he _would_ do it.

He would install the new locks himself at a later date … in part because the ones he wanted weren't in stock at the hardware store, but could and would be ordered. That was more than all right with Slade, who continued to look around the hardware store after placing the order. While that was the main thing on his to-be-done list, there were other things he wanted to check out before meeting Meg and Angel in front of the grocery store.

Although he had no issues in the basement when he was sleeping down there (he'd slept in far worse places, after all), Meg was turning over the idea in her mind of turning it into an actual room. For anyone else, it was somewhat chilly, and she'd asked him to price some wood or pellet stoves whilst he was in the store. She'd already done some pricing online, but she wanted to see what the local hardware store had. A wise move, he thought, which what he was doing … along with checking into what kind of work would need to be done in order to fulfill Meg's wish. He'd learned after leaving Joe in Kasnia (and following the kid halfway home to Star City … what? He'd spent years making the kid's life hell, did anyone really think he wouldn't make sure Oliver got home safely to his own kid?) that local hardware stores often had someone who knew how to use the products as well as sell them. Which made sense, and that was the case here in Destine as well. Both the owner and his seventeen year old daughter had some excellent suggestions (in addition to heating, check to see if the load-bearing walls needed reinforcement).

So, by the time Meg texted him to say that she and Angel were checking out, Slade had not only prices for a wood/pellet store, but some ideas about how she could move forward with the basement: including a panic room, as it was called nowadays. Personally, he preferred the far more traditional term of shelter, but each person had their preference. He was leaning against the brick façade of the grocery store as the mother and daughter exited, trying very hard not to smile at the bickering. Angel, it seemed, was trying to flirt with their cashier whilst they were in line, and Meg was teasing her about it.

He pushed himself off the wall and fell into step beside the pair, listening to the bantering with one ear, while he listened for signs of trouble with the other. And as ever, his head was on a swivel, looking for trouble all around them. To the very end of his days, he would never be able to figure out how he missed the three brats who attacked him at the petrol station and later abducted him (they blended in with everyone else, they looked like they belonged … they didn't stand out … but he still should have seen them, noticed them).

Slade was arranging the groceries in the back of the car as Meg double-checked the tires (apparently, she'd gotten a flat once without realizing it and now she checked the tires before leaving the parking lot), whilst Angel rolled the buggy into one of the stalls when a painfully familiar voice mocked, "You really don't want to do that." Alarmed far more than he was willing to admit, Slade closed the back … to see the ringleader of the three who abducted him pointing a gun at Meg, who'd reached inside her purse. And his other arm was wrapped around a terrified Angel.

"Let … her … go," Meg hissed. She hadn't been reaching into her purse for a weapon, he knew … probably for her cell phone to check on Angel's progress, as the teenager had been known to return the buggy to the store, rather than the stall. And if she thought the cashier was cute … well, he knew exactly where her mind was going. He'd been the parent of a teenager as well. The ringleader just smiled mockingly and threw Angel into the arms of the kid who was his second in command. For the first time, Slade realized there was a third one missing. He was distracted in his worry over that third kid (the voice of reason, Slade called him in his head), and missed the ringleader grabbing Meg when she reached out to calm her frightened daughter. Now both mother and daughter were captives. Angel was quietly crying, and while Meg looked just as terrified as Angel, she kept her eyes on Slade. She trusted him to … save them?

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to … but there was a third kid he couldn't locate, and taking his eyes off Meg and Angel long enough to look behind him was a recipe for disaster. If he tried to make a move against either of the little pricks, Meg or Angel would be harmed. If he drew attention to them all, more people would get involved … too many wild cards for him to successfully protect Meg and Angel. Slade went through scenario after scenario in his head, trying to figure out which one would have the best chance of success. But every plan had a rather large fatal flaw that would put the girls in even greater danger.

Meg closed her eyes, smiled sadly, and mouthed, ' _it's okay_.' She'd figured it out as well. A soft voice behind him said, "I'm sorry … I couldn't talk them out of it. If you come quietly, I'll have a better chance at keeping the three of you together." And there was the third person. There was a brief hesitation, before the boy, the voice of reason, added plaintively, "I really don't want to hurt you … can you make it look good when I clout you?" Slade very carefully didn't smile … instead, he eased himself to his knees, keeping his arms stretched out to the sides.

And even though he already knew it would do no good, he told the ringleader, "You've got me … let them go." A cold smile crossed the boy's face … the youngster behind him clobbered him in the back of his head, sending Slade's world spinning … and the very last thing Slade saw before he blacked out was the sight of the ringleader releasing Meg just long enough to grab a handful of her shoulder-length hair and slamming her head into the car. She collapsed bonelessly to the ground, Angel screaming in terror and fury.

Slade was unconscious as Angel was forced into the van … as Meg was dumped unceremoniously in beside her … as he himself was placed inside. Thus, he had no way of knowing that Father Rick Gillmore had seen the entire kidnapping play out … and that as soon as Slade's limp body was pushed inside the van, and the three boys pulled out of the parking lot, the priest was on the phone with his cousin by marriage, one Andrew Perkins, telling the younger man what he'd seen. Slade had no way of knowing any of this.

What he did know was clawing his way back to consciousness maybe five minutes after he blacked out, to find Angel sobbing beside her mother, Meg still unconscious, and the van bumping along the road. He was fairly certain the boys were taking them back to the warehouse where he'd been kept captive. His head hurt, but not that badly, and Slade quietly gave thanks for the healing properties of the Mirukuru that he'd retained. They were going to come in handy. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, crawling to the teenager, who all but threw herself into his arms. She did not, he was relieved to note, say his name or otherwise indicate to their captors that he was conscious. Good girl. She was learning.

Slade kept one arm around the frightened girl and used the other to shift Meg on her side. Just in case. Head injuries were tricky things … it was entirely too likely that Meg had a concussion, and if that was the case, he didn't want her suffocating on her own vomit. As bad as the smell was, better out than in. Slade pushed back the fury that wanted to take over his soul. He'd surrendered. There was no reason in the world for that little price to slam her head into the door like that, aside from one thing … he _wanted_ to hurt her. Slade couldn't do anything, not yet, not without running the risk of hurting Angel or hurting Meg worse, but there would be a reckoning for that. He didn't claim to be better than that … he wasn't … but the little bastard hurt someone under Slade's protection. There had to be consequences for that.

Meg was still unconscious when the van pulled to a shuddering stop. The doors swung open, and the ringleader was once more smirking. Slade murmured to Angel, "Go first … I'll bring your mum." The girl looked at him through wet brown eyes, and Slade smiled at her softly, adding, "Part of strategy involves not just knowing how to fight, but when to fight. When the time is right … we push back. Okay?" Angel nodded, blinking back tears, and scrambled out of the van. The boy who hit Slade, the voice of reason, helped her out and gently pushed her away from the other two. Ah. Very interesting.

Slade eased Meg out of the van and into that boy's arms, murmuring, "I'm trusting you to take care of her." The boy nodded … a second later, a punch landed in Slade's lower back, nearly sending him to the ground. Angel cried out, a hand coming up to cover her mouth a half second later. Slade grunted, but kept his feet, breathing through the pain until it became manageable. When it did, he held out his arms and the boy eased Meg into them, until Slade could cradle her against his chest.

The ringleader circled around him, and actually looked disappointed, but began stalking toward the warehouse. Slade followed, Angel and her companion at his side, with the final boy taking up the rear. As he walked, he heard Meg's breathing change and murmured, just low enough for her to hear him, "Stay still … and warn me if you think you're about to be sick." There was a soft huff of what he recognized to be laughter, and a hitch in her breathing. But it evened out after a moment, and Slade continued walking toward the warehouse, evaluating everything about it. He hadn't had the chance to do this the first time he was here … and every bit of information available helped.

At last, they approached the warehouse entrance, where an eerily familiar young man awaited. He looked … he looked like Joe. But … not at the same time. He remembered his conversation with Oliver whilst in the hospital, about the other earths, the parallel earths … could this be Joe from one of those earths? But that didn't make any sense, either, because those alternative individuals looked exactly like their counterparts here. So … who was he? The young man looked over them all, before beckoning them inside.

"I believe I gave specific orders that when it was time to retrieve them, no harm was to come to any of them," the young man said in a deceptively mild voice as Slade once more found himself on the warehouse floor where he'd been beaten and tortured. Something about the young man's voice, about that deceptively mild voice, made Slade tighten his arms around Meg protectively … even if he didn't believe she was the one in actual physical danger. He wasn't the only one reacting that way … the boy who seemed to be on their side actually moved closer to Angel, placing himself ever so slightly in front of her.

"You did … but they fought back. We didn't have a choice," the ringleader answered. He smirked just a bit (a bit too much) before adding, "Besides, we knew you didn't really mean it." The mastermind's eyebrows arched in a very familiar way. And really, Slade wasn't entirely surprised that the boy lied. However, it seemed Angel had enough. She actually growled and lunged for him, her protector noticing just in time to wrap his arms around her torso and yank her back protectively before she could get herself (or anyone else, for that matter) hurt. However, while he could restrain her body, restraining her mouth was something else entirely (well, there were two possibilities there, but Slade wouldn't recommend either of them in this case). And truly, Slade didn't think that what was said next surprised the mastermind.

Angel snarled, "You're a liar! Slade surrendered, he was on his knees, and you grabbed my mother's hair, you slammed her head into the car door. None of us fought back at all, you lying bastard!" The ringleader's face darkened and he took a step toward Angel, hissing as their ally pushed the girl behind him protectively. And Slade was in no position to do anything with Meg in his arms … even if he put her on the ground, he would be limited in what he could do. But the mastermind stopped all of that.

He asked in a silky voice, "Is that right? Dillon, is the girl telling the truth?" The boy restraining Angel nodded once, very quickly. The man shook his head, looked at Meg, before saying, "Let her stand on her own, Father … I know she's awake." Slade was in the process of lowering Meg's legs to the ground after she shifted, ever so slightly, when it hit him. The man called him 'Father.' He eased Meg into a standing position, but kept his arm around her waist for support … and protection … before turning his attention to the man once more. Not-Joe regarded him for several moments, before saying quietly, "I've thought so many times about how this meeting would go … meeting you face to face. I see you recognize me, even though we've never met. But my name is Grant Wilson … I'm your son … and I come from a future that no longer exists. I am the one who took Mother and the younger version of me."

There was a long moment of silence, because out of everything Slade might have expected, that was the absolute last possibility. In truth, his mind stuttered to a stop as soon as the mastermind, a possible future version of his youngest child, spoke. And he wasn't done, this possible future version of Grant. He nodded to Meg, saying, "Dillon, take Mrs. Carvalho and her daughter to my mother and my mini-me. Mother has some skill with first aid … she can take care of them both." Dillon hesitated, looked at the other two, and then moved to Meg's side, with Angel supporting her mother on the other side.

The two remaining boys were starting to look distinctly uneasy. Especially since Future!Grant didn't speak again until after Dillon and the Carvalho women were no longer within seeing or hearing distance. The young man said in a very low voice as he turned to face them, "So. You didn't think I meant what I said when I warned you that you weren't to harm any of them, that I would be checking for bruises. You didn't think I would notice when my father carried the woman who gave him shelter into this warehouse."

The hair on the back of Slade's neck rose at the low register of the young man's voice, his son's voice. This was Grant. This was the boy he'd been looking for. But he wasn't the eleven year old child he was expecting, but a potential future version … one whom Slade suspected had committed deeds as heinous as Slade's own. Slade didn't fear for himself. But he did fear for the current version of his son, for his ex-wife, for the mother and daughter pair who'd taken him in and helped him in more ways than could be imagined. He even feared for the man his son became in the future.

That fear was to become even worse as this potential version of Grant began circling around the two remaining boys, in a way warriors often did before striking. But Slade remained still, because this man, this boy, this potential future for his son … he was an unknown quantity, he was unpredictable, and based on the way his hands were phasing in and out of existence behind his back, he wasn't particularly stable. Physically or emotionally. And unstable, unpredictable people were among the most dangerous people in the world, as he knew painfully well.

And yet, there was a part of him that wanted to intervene on behalf of the boys, regardless of what went on before. Dillon seemed to be a good kid at heart, and his take on the middle boy was that of a misguided kid more than anything else. The ringleader was the only one who seemed to have any degree of malice in his soul, and Slade wasn't even sure about that. But he had the sense that things were set in motion, long before he entered the warehouse with Meg in his arms, and he doubted he could stop it from reaching its fruition. He could only make decisions with what he knew, and he only had a small part of the picture.

"If you boys are going to work for me … and that's a rather large _if_ right now … you'll need to learn that you must follow my orders. I give them to you for a reason … and if you ignore those orders, there must be consequences. You must learn from those consequences … and strive to do better," Grant lectured … and with a swiftness that made his father's breath catch in his throat, pivoted and slashed open the middle boy's side. The ringleader actually screamed and lunged to catch the younger boy, cradling him against his chest protectively.

And Slade was paralyzed, because in his heart of hearts, he believed that without his influence, his younger son would grow up to be … better. But that hadn't been the case (or maybe this future version of his son had him in his life and that was why he turned out that way), and … the ringleader, still on his knees, turned his tear-stained face up to Grant and wailed, "Why? He didn't do anything wrong, why would you do this to him?" Slade shuddered as Grant wiped the boy's blood on his own pants before bending down to answer.

"I told you. There are consequences for disobeying me. You must learn from those consequences. If you were dead, you couldn't learn. Now, you can. And now, you will. Come with me, Father … there's much we need to discuss in these last few hours," Grant answered. Slade started to speak, started to protest … he honestly wasn't sure what he meant to say, but Grant continued with a strange expression, "You need to come with me, Father … there are others still living who are in need of your protection." Slade looked at the weeping boy, at the youngster bleeding to death in his arms, and mouthed, 'I'm sorry.'

Because while he hadn't known that someone was watching them at the shopping center, he _had_ seen a distinctly familiar police cruiser creep into the parking lot of the warehouse as he slipped inside with Meg. Grant was more right than he knew … there wasn't much time left, and maybe if he distracted his son, Officer Andrew Perkins might be able to save the middle boy. He could only hope. And so, he followed Grant to who knew where, leaving the two boys where they were. Things were set into motion … and now, Slade's responsibility was to the three women who meant far too much to him and to his little boy.

TBC

Additional Author's Note: The title comes from First Corinthians, chapter three, verse twelve: _Now_ _we see_ _but a dim reflection_ _as in_ _a mirror;_ _then we shall see_ _face_ _to_ _face._ _Now_ _I know_ _in_ _part;_ _then_ _I shall know fully,_ _even_ _as_ _I am fully known._


	8. Chapter 7:Weapons of Choice

Author's Notes: First and foremost … for the first time in ten years, my beloved Carolina Hurricanes are going to the Stanley Cup playoffs! We started out rocky at the beginning of the season, as we always do, but things turned around for us in a big way after the All-Star game … and we clinched our spot on Thursday night after beating the New Jersey Devils, 3-1 (and the Washington Capitals beat the Montreal Canadiens, which also helped). So we're all uber-excited and uber-happy. Will we make it through the first round? Maybe, maybe not … but for the first time since 2009, we'll be in the playoffs. It is an extremely good year for hockey fans in North Carolina … the 'Canes are going to the playoffs (or, as we affectionately/exasperatedly call them, the Cardiac 'Canes, because they can snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat, and defeat from the jaws of victory. We still love them, though); their farm club, the Charlotte Checkers, are also play-off bound; and the Fayetteville Marksmen, the local semi-professional hockey team clinched their spot about a week ago. Like I said … a very good time for NC hockey fans. Okay, so, onto the story … we are starting to head into the home stretch, as I believe we have three or four chapters remaining. The next story, whenever I get that started (because writing this one has been like pulling teeth at times), will be less of a 'mission' story, and more of a 'family' story … which will involve the arrival of Gideon Wilson and Bastiaan de Vries arriving in Destine. One father is expecting the child he finds there … the other one most assuredly is now. Still working out a title for that. In this chapter, the local parish priest has his say; Dillon delivers Meg and Angel to Adeline and Grant; while Slade finally meets his youngest child.

Chapter Seven

Weapons of Choice

He hadn't always been a priest … that is to say, he hadn't become a priest until he was thirty-five years old, and no, he wasn't a Jesuit. For the first seventeen years of his life, he'd been a troubled boy with no future … then he'd been a gun for hire, which took him all around the country and then all around the world before leading him to the Bosnian War in the early 1990's. His youngest cousin said sometimes that he'd been looking for a place to belong. His bishop said he was being led to where he needed to be, because sometimes the long way around helped more people. Father Patrick Gillmore, however, was willing to call it as it was … he'd been in search of a Calling, but didn't know how to listen for it. Hadn't heard it until he held a dying woman in his arms, a dying woman who'd cared for him after he'd been seriously injured (dying because of him, never mind that he'd come back for her after being told that he was no longer needed, never mind that he'd killed the man threatening her village, her people … it was his bullet that ended her life) … and then, it was all he could hear, nearly deafening him.

It almost ended his own life, that and the bullet that tore through his lung. Almost. It _should_ have ended his life, if only because inattention and infection. But his path to atonement wasn't nearly that easy. It never was. Nor should it be. He healed … stuck around long enough to make sure the newborn baby of the woman who saved him was safely placed with a loving family, and then went through every seminary he could find until that voice quieted. And now, here he was, twenty-four years removed from that village … a pastor with a parish of his own, assigned here by the bishop nearly fifteen years earlier. And he knew, as soon as he laid eyes on Slade Wilson, exactly who this man was. Not just because of his cousin Andrew, but because Father Patrick Gillmore had once been a killer, just as Slade Wilson was.

And if he knew anything about the past, it was that it never stayed there … whether in the form of nightmares (which he still had, and would for the rest of his life) or in the form of 'friends' from the past who wanted to draw you back. There was no doubt in Rick's mind that Slade Wilson was doing his damnedest to put Deathstroke behind him. There was also no doubt in his mind that Deathstroke wouldn't stay gone. That was why he feared for Meg Carvalho and her daughter … because they would get caught in the crossfire, just as Alina did, literally, nearly twenty-five years earlier.

What he hadn't expected on that Sunday afternoon, only a few hours after the placing of the cornerstone of the new church, was to see Wilson, Meg and Angel be taken in broad daylight in the parking lot of a grocery store. He'd just returned to his car, with the intention of returning to the parish to stock up the parish kitchen, and was responding to a text from Alina's daughter Petra, now a graduate student studying archaeology at the University of Edinburgh, when he saw the drama play out, culminating in both Meg and Wilson being knocked unconscious, their limp bodies dumped in the back of the van, while a nearly-hysterical Angel was pushed in with them. He quickly hit 'send' on his text to Petra, and then dialed Troy Everette's number.

While Stephen Carvalho was Jewish, his widow and daughter were both Catholic, and it was Patrick Gillmore who held Meg Carvalho's hand during her husband's funeral. Her father couldn't get back in time for the funeral … her mother was having another one of her 'spells,' and her aunt and uncle were dealing with the consequences of their sister's spell. Before Sissy and Lindy took the shocked young widow under their wing, Troy and Rick looked after the newest denizens, and that included standing with Stephen's widow. While Rick had an entire parish to look after, Troy remained close to his 'little sister,' and thus, he was the first person whom the priest called.

And because he couldn't let this go, because Meg reminded him far too much of Alina in those moments as she collapsed, Rick followed the kidnappers to the warehouse, where he met Troy (and how Troy knew they would be ending up there, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. That could be dangerous). None of the groceries were perishable, so he didn't have to worry about that … besides, even perishable goods were replaceable in a way no human being was.

He got out of the car as Troy pulled up, and the other man rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. Rick ignored him, saying, "I've been a priest for the last twenty-five years, but I do still know how to conduct surveillance. They took Wilson and the Carvalho ladies in there about fifteen minutes ago. Wilson's awake, it looked like Meg was still unconscious. Why here, though?" He fell into step beside Everette.

As they walked, the other man explained, "This is where we found Wilson after he'd been captured. We weren't sure if they'd bailed or not, Wilson seemed to think they'd stay put, especially since his kid and ex are both being held here … would draw more attention to leave, rather than stay." Rick inclined his head, because … well … that made some degree of sense to him. And then Everette breathed, "Oh my God." His steps quickened and for a moment, Rick cursed himself for being dumb enough to walk alongside a man who was six foot five … but what he saw ahead of them on the warehouse floor silenced him.

He recognized immediately one of the kidnappers, kneeling beside someone else. Wilson was nowhere in sight. Nor were Meg or Angel. Rick pushed down his concern for his parishioners and knelt beside the weeping young man, and the boy cradled against his chest. For the first time, he recognized them, and his heart sank. He knew these boys, and feared this ending. As Troy began gently questioning the weeping youngster, Rick began tending to the injured boy. And because of his past, he could tend to the boy's injuries as he tended to his soul.

From here, finding the missing lambs was Everette's task … Rick's task was to tend the injured youngster. If there was one thing that he'd learned as a mercenary turned priest, it was that humans couldn't limit the scope of God's mercy. As he tended to the boy, he listened intently to his older brother's account of what happened. It wasn't Wilson who did this … or, at least, not Slade Wilson … but rather their employer, who warned them that none of their captives was to be harmed. Rick remembered the sight of Braden slamming Meg Carvalho's head into the car door … remembered seeing Slade Wilson carry the still-unconscious woman into the warehouse … and flinched.

So focused was he on caring for young Braden, that he didn't notice when Grady rose to his feet, eyes filled with hatred, his hand slipping to the knife at his side. And if he had? If he saw the actions of the eldest brother/cousin, he would have done the exact same thing he was doing now. His responsibility right now was to the injured boy, whether he survived his wounds or died. Dealing with the unknown Wilson was Troy's … and the detective wouldn't be alone, because as Rick knelt on the cold cement floor of the abandoned warehouse, his cousin strode in. Rick nodded in the direction that Andrew's partner headed, before returning his attention to the injured boy. The law and his sidearm were the weapons of choice for his cousin and Troy Everette … Rick's own weapons of choice were faith and compassion, and weapons of all types were needed in the fight against evil, whatever form it took.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

"Hello, Dillon, and who the hell is this?"

Dillon was still trembling from the confrontation with their employer as he and Angel Carvalho guided her mother into the room where Adeline Kane and her son had been kept for the last few weeks. The last few hours had been absolute hell on his nerves, and it didn't look to be getting any better. Wilson was distinctly unimpressed when he realized that despite his very clear orders, Meg Carvalho was injured. He would likely be even less impressed when he learned that Dillon knocked his father unconscious, even though he hadn't actually been trying at the time.

However, he also learned while watching over Adeline and baby!Grant that when Adeline asked a question, you sodding well answered her (and yes, 'sodding' was a new addition to his vocabulary, one he picked up from both his employer and his mother). He answered as he and Angel eased her mother to the ground, "Her name is Meg Carvalho, she's who your ex has been staying with here in town." He paused and looked at Adeline more on target, adding, "My cousin slammed her head into the car door, after your ex surrendered. He's with the future version of your kid now."

Adeline's dark green eyes narrowed, but she focused on the woozy brunette, instead of her ex-husband. Kneeling beside the other woman, she said gently, "Well, I'll see if there's something I can do for her. Can you follow my finger then, luv?" Meg Carvalho blinked a few times, before focusing her attention on Adeline's index finger. She wasn't a hundred percent successful, but on the positive side, she hadn't vomited in the van or since they left the warehouse floor. Adeline seemed to agree, murmuring, "Not seeing or smelling any vomit on you, so that's a positive sign. Maybe your head is as hard as Slade's." Dillon didn't know how hard Slade Wilson's head was, but he knew how hard Grady's head was … and that was plenty hard.

"Definitely as hard as Slade's head … maybe harder," Meg agreed, closing her eyes and resting her head against the wall … thus missing Adeline's sudden smile. However, she quickly dropped the smile and tapped Meg's thigh, drawing a grumbled, "I am not asleep, just resting my eyes." Adeline's smile returned at the cranky response and she tapped Meg's thigh again, drawing the other woman's eyes open once more, muttering, "All right, all right, I'll keep my eyes open." She grumbled under her breath about being worse than Slade. Dillon didn't ask.

"Good. If they're closed, the likelihood that you won't open them again goes up. My name is Adeline, and this is my son Grant. I understand I have you to thank for taking care of my stubborn ex-husband? A full-time job, that is," Adeline observed. Dillon heard Angel huff a laugh, muttering under her breath, ' _yeah, that's an understatement_!' Adeline's smile brightened once more as she agreed, saying, "He hasn't gotten any better since when I first met him. The boy I met could never walk away when someone innocent or weak was being threatened."

"He's changed a bit since then. I asked him about that once, and he said that he'd learned the hard way to look out for himself first. Besides, if he was constantly defending others, they'd never learn to defend themselves. He's this odd balance between so many things," Meg answered. Her color was slowly returning, and with her in good hands, Dillon was free to look around. Baby!Grant had tucked himself against Angel's side, as if to comfort her. In the days since he learned of his future self, the youngster seemed to be actively working to make sure he didn't become like him. Dillon couldn't argue with that.

"I'm honestly not surprised. When I learned that our family friend turned on Slade on the island, I had a feeling that was how Slade would react. Even before Billy betrayed him, trust was an issue for him," Adeline answered. She continued examining the newcomer, adding, "I don't think you have a concussion, but as soon as we get out of here, you need to see a doctor. Head injuries are tricky at the best of times, and getting your head slammed into a car door does not qualify for 'the best of times.' For now, just rest … and keep your eyes open. What about you, sweetheart, were you injured at all?" She turned to face Angel, who wrapped both arms around baby!Grant. It wasn't, Dillon thought, so much a sign of affection, but she needed to hold onto someone. Someone, he acknowledged a moment later, who hadn't helped to kidnap her.

"I'm fine. I just … I was scared. I'm still scared. This older version of Grant, what does he want with us? I mean, I get that he wants his dad … but why us?" Angel asked. Dillon inhaled sharply, because for some reason, that never occurred to him. But … she was right. In the beginning, he got Dillon and his cousins because he had some grand plans for an army. But as the weeks went by … especially once his younger self began learning about the man his father was before his mind was warped by an experimental drug … Grant Wilson, the one from the future, talked less and less about that army and taking over Destine. In fact, he grew quiet, especially after his father escaped/was rescued.

The Grant from the future was phasing out, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. Was it really so hard to believe that before it all ended, he just wanted to see his father? Dillon thought of his own family, and no … no, it wasn't hard to believe at all. Adeline said softly, "You were taken with Slade as leverage against him. Despite his trust issues, he's still hard-wired to protect once someone earns his trust, as you and your mother have. Just … please. For your own sake … don't ever betray that trust."

"I would say, we have no intention of doing so, but intentions have a bad habit of going seriously awry," Megan answered ruefully, one hand coming up to rub at her forehead. Adeline smiled at that, patting her thigh to turn to face Angel. But Grant's mother never had the chance to examine the girl, for Grant himself strolled into the room with his father behind him. Slade Wilson smiled at Meg and Angel reassuringly (though Dillon, who barely knew him, could tell that he was worried) before turning his attention to Adeline and the current version of his son.

Dillon's boss smirked, saying, "Well, the family is nearly complete. I just spent the last few minutes talking to my father … and Mother, if I didn't hate you before, I certainly do now for keeping him away from me." Out of the corner of his eye, Dillon saw baby!Grant pulling away from Angel ever so slightly … and Angel letting him go. Adeline rose to her feet, standing in front of Meg protectively. Grant went on, "Oh, she's in no danger from me, especially since that idiot Grady ignored my orders and hurt her. I …"

"You … you're my father?" the younger version of Grant asked, interrupting his future self. His eyes were on his father and no one else. Dillon didn't miss the sudden pain that flashed in Angel Carvalho's eyes, and he remembered that her father died when she was a toddler. She would never get this reunion, not in this lifetime. Slade Wilson turned, ever so slowly, to face the boy. Dillon heard Meg whisper something, saw Adeline turn ever so slightly and help the other woman to her feet before wrapping a supportive arm around her waist.

Slade nodded, murmuring, "Yes, Grant …. I'm your father. I'm sorry …" He didn't get any further, because the little boy launched himself into his father's arms. Dillon almost laughed at the boy's impression of an octopus, wrapping his arms and legs around his father. Slade, for his own part, staggered back … but then wrapped his youngest child in an equally fierce embrace. Meg held out her hand to her daughter, and Angel joined her mother and Adeline, because this … this wasn't about anyone except Grant and Slade. Grant, the version of him that was Dillon's boss, watched in silence … and now, Dillon's blood ran cold as his boss' entire body disappeared briefly. He was certain that he was the only one who noticed: the ladies were all watching the reunion, baby!Grant's back was to his possible future self, and Slade's remaining eye was closed as he cradled the back of his son's head. Dillon's breath caught in his throat. Time was running out for Grant, then, especially now that his younger self was with his father.

So, of course, the sweet moment couldn't last. There was a roar of fury (and grief, a roar that Dillon recognized all too well. He'd last heard it when he was a boy, when his aunt died), which had the occupants of the room scattering. Slade Wilson backed away from the future version of his son, settling baby!Grant in a far corner of the room. He was just turning around to face the door when it flew open, to reveal Grady. Dillon gasped, seeing the blood covering his cousin's clothes … because there was no way it was his … and Braden wasn't behind him.

Grady stalked into the room, fingers curled around the knife in his hand, snarling, "Why? Why did you kill my brother, you bastard! I was the one who hit the bitch, Dillon hit your old man … Braden was innocent! Why!" Braden … Braden was dead? Dillon shook his head, because he hadn't just heard that. He couldn't have just heard that! Tears were pouring down his cousin's face as he said again, "Damn you, tell me why!"

"I already told you. I gave you very specific orders. My father was not to be further harmed, and the people sheltering him were not to be harmed. You chose to ignore those instructions, Grady. You chose not to believe me. That means your brother's blood is on your hands, just as much as it is on mine. As for Dillon, I knew about him hitting my father … he told me. He also told me that Dillon was protecting him in the only way he had available to him at the time, since you ignored your orders. So … you are responsible for that as well," Grant said coldly.

Dillon looked at Slade, who was quickly approaching from the corner where he left baby!Grant, the boy looking worried. Dillon didn't blame him a bit. Grady, however, ignored him, saying, "You killed my brother. You took my family away from me. So I'm gonna take your family away from you." There was a moment of pain, that Dillon wasn't considered family … but then Grady was in motion. Slade ran forward, as if to meet Dillon's cousin … except he wasn't the one Grady meant. Stupid, really, that Dillon didn't realize until too late who was in danger.

Out of them all, only one person understood what Grady meant … and she pushed both Meg and Angel Carvalho away from her protectively, leaving her open and unprotected when Grady shoved his knife into her gut. Slade Wilson cried out her name, even as the Carvalho ladies crumpled to the ground, even as the child version of Grant Wilson screamed from the corner of the room where his father left him. Adeline Kane Wilson laughed, blood staining her teeth, as she said, "You … idiot! You … killed … the one person … in this room … my son didn't care about." Dillon couldn't see his cousin's face, but he did see his body language … and then Slade was there, grabbing Grady's shoulder and spinning him around to punch him in the face. And this time, he didn't hold back.

Dillon's cousin collapsed as if he was a puppet whose strings had been cut (which really, when Dillon thought about it, wasn't far from the truth), and the room erupted into pandemonium. Angel was helping her mother sit up, and together, they grabbed little Grant as he ran toward his parents. With Grady down for the moment, Slade turned his full attention to his ex-wife, catching her as she slid down the wall. He folded her against his chest, as he'd done with Meg earlier, whispering, "Adeline … oh God, I'm so sorry. I should have seen it earlier, should have been faster." Adeline laughed breathlessly before moaning, her hand clutching at his bicep convulsively. Dillon, who really didn't know much about healing or injuries, did know that the way her breathing was rattling wasn't a good sign. It sounded like his cousin hit a lung when he stabbed her … which meant time was running out for her, just as sure as it was for Future!Grant.

"How … could you … know? You … didn't know … that his mother … was dead. Oh God … it hurts. It hurts … so much. I'm … sorry, Slade … I'm … so sorry … for keeping … Grant from you. For telling … Joe … to lie to … you. For all … of it. I'm sorry," she rasped out. Her bloodied, free hand came up to cup Slade's cheek. Behind them, rising unsteadily to her feet, was Meg, who had one arm wrapped around her daughter and the other wrapped around a weeping Grant. The little boy was clinging to her waist, his face buried against her chest. But then his mother gasped, "Grant … baby … come here."

Meg released the little boy, whispering just loud enough for Dillon to hear her, "Go to your mom, honey." She wiped away tears from his face, before kissing the top of his head and nudging him gently toward his parents. The boy stumbled over, falling to his knees beside his father. Dillon knew what Adeline was saying … he heard his aunt say the same things to his cousins before she died. He didn't need to hear her. He already knew. What surprised him, however, was Future!Grant, phasing in and out several times per minute, before finally crying out, "Mother … I forgive you! I forgive you."

And then … he was gone. Just … gone, as if he was never there … as if his hatred of his mother was all that kept him here, stronger even than his desire to see his father again. Grant's cry alerted him to Adeline's death (the only Grant remaining), and Dillon turned his attention from the empty space where the potential future version of Grant was standing, to the child he currently was. The little boy was listing into his father's side, sobbing as Slade held Adeline's lifeless body. Meg shuffled forward a bit, gently pulling Grant to his feet and into her arms, allowing his father to grieve. The little boy clung to her, Angel wrapping both him and her mother into a fierce embrace. But they weren't truly free to grieve, not yet.

Because as the Wilson family drama played out, Grady regained consciousness. Dillon hadn't noticed … none of them noticed. Not until it was almost too late, not until Grady had already struggled to his feet and lurched toward Slade Wilson's hunched back. Meg cried out in alarm, Slade's head jerked up and quicker than Dillon could have imagined, he eased Adeline to the ground and bounded to his feet, grabbing Grady's wrist before the knife could come down, tightening his grasp until Grady cried out and released the knife.

Slade kicked it away, and punched Grady in the face again, sending him staggering back. To Dillon's left, Meg was gently arranging Adeline's limbs, while Grant sobbed against his dead mother's shoulder. Angel kept her hand on the boy's back. Dillon looked away just long enough to check on them, and then looked back to the fight between his cousin and Slade Wilson. Except it was less of a fight and more of an ass-whooping. Grady talked a good game, but he was full of bluster and little else. Slade was as good as Grady claimed to be, if not better.

Unfortunately, Grady was also a cheater, and as he reeled back from yet another blow, he reached behind him … to the sheath he kept in the middle of his back … and withdrew his second knife. Someone shouted for him to stop, police, freeze, words that blurred together. But Grady wasn't listened, he never listened, and he slashed his knife across Slade's ribs. It was to be his very last mistake, because he had no sooner stopped the sweep when a gun roared, and Grady collapsed. In the door, Officer Andrew Perkins lowered his weapon. Behind him … behind him stood Father Gillmore and Detective Everette, and between them, looking pale and wobbly, stood Braden. Wha … Braden … Braden was alive? But … but didn't Grady say …? Over his shoulder, Officer Perkins said softly, "I'm sorry, Braden. I told him to stop."

Dillon looked at his cousin, who was leaning heavily against Father Gillmore, tears running down his face. The priest gently eased Braden into Detective Everette's arms before walking into the room and sinking to his knees beside Grady. Distantly, Dillon realized that he was performing Last Rites. None of them were Catholic, but it didn't matter. Because this was one final thing they could do for Grady. The cousins stared at each other for several moments, as Slade sank to his knees beside his family, then Dillon's feet were carrying him forward, until his arms were full of Braden, and Braden's arms were full of him, and the two remaining members of their family were holding onto each other for dear life.

Neither of them had any idea what their future held, if they even had a future (hello, kidnapping charges). But they wouldn't have to face it alone.

TBC

Additional Author's Notes: Okay, I have a couple of quick things you should know. We actually aren't done with this confrontation … next chapter will begin with telling Slade and Future!Grant's side of things, beginning with their conversation and ending with Future!Grant going bye-bye. With regards to Father Rick, the inspiration for his past and his path to the priesthood is twofold: first, there was a character in a book I read a few years ago who began his career as a counter-terrorism agent. His wife was killed in a terrorist attack shortly before she planned to leave her job, so they could start a family, and his rage and grief pushed him into berserker mode. He went after the responsible parties, wiped them out, and went into a deep spiral once it was done. When he pulled himself out of the abyss, he became a priest. That was one inspiration. The other inspiration was the character of Luke from the rather strange Western, _Dust_ (played by David Wenham). Supposedly, Luke died at the end of that, but honestly, that's an ending that's never made sense to me. Finally, by now, everyone has heard about the end of _Arrow_. Regardless of how things end next season, Oliver will be visiting his big brother in Destine in the near future, and William will be with him, and William and Grant will absolutely become best friends. Felicity will not be joining them. Make of that what you will. See you next time (whenever that is)!


	9. Chapter 8:Phantom Arms, Phantom Touches

Author's Notes: This chapter is focused entirely on Grant and Slade Wilson … both versions of Grant, actually. For those who are wondering, the mental image I keep having for baby!Grant is the child version of Boba Fett in _Attack of the Clones_ , as played by Daniel Logan (if they ever make the much-discussed Boba Fett movie, he and Manu Bennett are the only actors I could accept in that role. I met Daniel Logan a few years ago at DragonCon and I know he's lobbying for the role. But Manu would make a seriously bad-ass Boba Fett). The end of the semester is coming up fast … commencement will be in four weeks, and then the week after that, we switch to flex time. Which means both less time to write, and more … I work from seven thirty to five thirty, Monday through Thursday, and then seven thirty to eleven thirty on Friday. Also, fair warning, despite what may seem logical, as a staff member at a college, I actually tend to be busier during the summer than I am during the semesters. A lot of students who attended many years ago start the process to go back to college during the summer months, which means I need to confirm that their entire record has been entered into the student database. Plus, there's diploma distribution, and the summer semesters. So, we'll see how it goes. Oh, and can't forget Raleigh SuperCon in July. That's gonna be off-the-charts this year. So. In this chapter, Slade officially meets both variations of his youngest son; Future!Grant has a few last things to do before he vanishes; and baby!Grant creates a new future him.

Chapter Eight

Phantom Arms, Phantom Touches

Destine, Missouri

Early Sunday afternoon

"Hello, Father."

Those were the exact words Joe greeted him with, so many months ago. But this wasn't Joe, this was Grant … two different boys, two different tones. A potential future version of Grant … but it was still his youngest son, who led him into the same tower where he saw Adeline during his captivity. Slade swallowed thickly, murmuring, "Hello, son." He dipped his head, ever so slightly, and flinched at even that small motion. Some of the pain must have flashed across his face, because Grant's expression tightened with concern.

"Are you all right? Did they hurt you, too?" he demanded. Slade started to answer, flinched again, and remembered his son slashing open the side of the boy who'd held Angel. He wasn't sure if he wanted to answer, if it meant putting Dillon in danger, when the boy had tried to protect them in the only way he had available to him. His hesitation must have provided his answer to his son, because Grant added, "It was Dillon, wasn't it? He and Braden probably tried to talk Grady out of it, and when they couldn't, Dillon figured out the best way to protect all three of you … except just like always, Grady didn't stick to the script. Am I close?"

"Dillon was behind me … told me that if I surrendered, he had a better chance of keeping the three of us together. He also told me that he had to hit me, and to please at least pretend to lose consciousness," Slade answered. No, that wasn't technically what Dillon said, but that was the basic gist of it. Grant relaxed, ever so slightly, and Slade took a chance, adding, "The kid could use some training … I think he hit me harder than he meant to."

"I've had him protecting Mother and the current version of me … more to protect him from the stupidity of his cousin than anything else," Grant acknowledged. He paused, and then added, "You'll be the one training him, not me, Father." Slade was on the point of asking his son what he meant when Grant … phased out. Slade thought at first that he'd been hit harder than he thought, when it happened again. Grant smiled at him sadly, saying, "I think it is what is called a 'self-own.' I came back into the past to change things, to ensure that I destroyed your enemies before they could become a problem for either of us … and I changed myself right out of existence. This version of me will cease to exist before the day ends … and who I become will be up to you, and probably Meg Carvalho."

"Considering my track record with your brother …" Slade began and Grant immediately began shaking his head. Slade blinked at this variation of his son, and then realized Grant mentioned Meg, adding, "And I don't know how long I'll remain in Destine, if I'll be here long enough for Meg or Angel, or anyone else here, to make an impact on you." But even as the words left his mouth, Grant was once more shaking his head.

"She's already making an impact, Father … just by raising Angel the way she has, she's made an impact. Just now, Angel put her arms around my mini-me while my mother examines her for a concussion. Oh, it's not out of any affection, something my mini-me knows, but right now, a girl he's only just met is holding him and giving him someone to hold onto. And stop blaming yourself for Joe. What he became is on him, not on you … just as what I became is on me, much as I've blamed Mother for all these years. We all make our own choices, Father … stop taking his choices from him, and accept that," Grant answered.

Slade closed his mouth with a snap, because that was the exact same thing Meg told him. And out of all the conversations he'd expected to have with the future version of his son, this was probably one of the last one anyone could have imagined, especially once he realized that the individual who kidnapped his ex-wife and youngest child was a potential future version of that same child. As if guessing this, Grant added ruefully, "I know. You were expecting Joe 2.0, complete with, ' _if you don't act like what I've become, you aren't my father any more_.' And maybe, if you'd found me at the beginning, before Mother changed course and started telling my mini-me about you when you and she first met … maybe that's the version of me you would have gotten. But that's not the father I need. Well, I won't need anything for much longer."

"I'm sorry," Slade said hoarsely, and Grant blinked at him. Slade inhaled (it still hurt to breathe, especially now with his heart feeling as if it was too big for his chest), before repeating, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I took that mission, I'm sorry I wasn't there while you were growing up. I'm sorry I didn't know about you until Joe told me. I don't know if I'll do any better with the current version of you … there are times when I'm not sure if I was cut out to be a father. But I'll do my best." Grant smiled then … not the mocking smile he'd worn when he slashed open that boy's side, but a real smile.

"And your best is good enough, Father. I promise you that. I … oh. I didn't know that, did you?" Grant asked and Slade frowned. Know what, exactly? Grant explained, "Angel just told my mini-me that one of her mother's favorite books is _Dune_ , and one of her favorite characters is Alia. Oh. That makes your life easier. Ask Meg about Alia, and about the choices that were made for her, that led to her damnation, and the choice she made, for her own salvation. She'll understand." Slade didn't, but maybe that didn't matter.

Instead, he asked softly, "So … what happens now? Because this was not among the scenarios I ran in my head on the way over." To his surprise, Grant actually laughed … and after a moment, so did Slade. Actually, nothing had gone as Slade anticipated on the way over. None of the scenarios that he and Meg prepared together, whilst asking the advice of Troy Everette … but it was like he was taught when he first joined the service. No plan survives first contact. It was true then, and it was true now.

"Honestly, it wasn't among the scenarios I had in mind when I came back here. What happens now is, I take you to my mini-me … he's so looking forward to meeting you. And, I suppose you see Mother again," Grant added, his disdain for Adeline clear. That was made even clearer a moment later when he added, "She kept me away from you for so long … and then she trash-talked you. I have two sets of memories in my head for her, one from my past and one from right now. She's been telling my mini-me about how you two met, and about Aunt Rose."

As ever, the mention of his young sister-in-law caused a pang. He pushed his grief down into a little box, to be dealt with later, and instead, focused on a conversation with his chosen brother on the island that changed them both. Oh, there were several differences … but Grant needed to hear this as much as Oliver had. Slade told his son, "You need to forgive her, Grant." The boy looked more than a bit rebellious, but Slade continued, determined to get through to this son, to succeed with Grant where he failed with Joe, "You do. Don't let the version of your mother that you remember win … besides, considering what I was like with the Mirukuru in my system, I can't say she was wrong. I could have hurt her, I could have hurt you. Forgive her, son, for your own sake if not for hers … and then you'll be free."

Grant opened and closed his mouth several times, before exhaling and saying, "I'll try. Would you like to meet my mini-me, and check on Meg and Angel? I swear to you, Father, I _told_ those idiots not to hurt them. I knew hurting them would piss you off." He paused, before adding quietly, "Besides, Meg was there for you when you arrived in town. I've had Dillon listening around town, and people talk about you two, about how Meg looks after you." Slade felt blood rush to his face, because yes, he'd heard that before and was likely to continue hearing it. Grant smiled faintly and said, "Come, Papa … I'll take you to them."

' _Papa_.' Slade cursed himself for being all kinds of a fool. How had he not seen this before? He told his son softly, "Wait." Grant twisted to face him, and Slade took the two steps needed (crossed the chasm) to pull this adult, possible future version of his youngest son into his arms. Grant stiffened for just a moment, telling Slade just how much he'd surprised him, and then the boy all but melted against his chest, burying his face in his shoulder. Grant phased in and out, but as jarring as that was, Slade never let go … if anything, he tightened his hold on his child.

At last, Grant pulled back and whispered, "We should go. Time is running out, Papa, and my mini-me needs you." Slade released his son and followed him from the room. And of course, because that was the way life worked, all hell broke loose almost as soon as the current version of his youngest child was in his arms. Before the hour was out, there would be no future version of Grant remaining, his ex-wife would be dead … as would her killer. But there was work to be done, and as a Navy SEAL he'd met during training liked to say, the only easy day was yesterday. He wouldn't expect anything else.

DSDSDSDSDSDSDS

He was running out of time. And while he couldn't have said why, he knew that he needed to get his father in the same room as his mini-me before he vanished completely. For some reason, it was important … it was necessary, either for himself or for his mini-me. Probably his mini-me. Truthfully, he didn't know why he was still here. With every new experience that his mini-me had, Grant's time was shortened. And when Angel Carvalho pulled him into her arms (to comfort herself as much as to comfort him, and that was okay, because he wasn't the only one who was frightened), that time went from days to hours. Really, he hadn't thought any of this out at all. He'd simply … reacted after losing to Oliver Queen.

Now, he was phasing in and out, he had memories from two different timelines, and his mini-me refused to even look at him. Quite without meaning to, he'd pushed his child-self further toward his mother (although, the fact that she was telling him stories about their father that Grant himself never heard whilst growing up probably had a few things to do with that). Oh yeah, and he was letting Braden live after he and the other boys were specifically told not to harm the Carvalho ladies. Grant knew how to hurt someone without killing them. And technically speaking, Dillon also disobeyed him, but considering how little Grady listened to him, Grant really couldn't fault him for his part in this mess (plus, the kid knocked Grant's father unconscious with very little training … that had to count for something).. But really … what part of, ' _I don't want you hurting the people who have been there for my father_ ' was so very hard to understand?

Apparently, all of it. And that was something else that was interesting. With every change made in the timeline, of course, his memories were changing. That was to be expected. What he hadn't expected was that once his father arrived, his mental state would stabilize (even though his physical state continued to deteriorate). He still hated his mother … he probably always would … but so many things were becoming clearer to him now. And that was even before his father pulled him into his arms.

It was … it was like coming home, and not even realizing it first. Grant couldn't help stiffening at first, because he wasn't expecting it. He couldn't even remember the last time someone hugged him. But his father pulled him close and Grant closed his eyes, leaning into this flawed, caring, stubborn man who helped to create him. Oh, Slade Wilson would deny that to his dying breath … but he cared for others. Maybe not in a way that the average person would understand it, and he offered it to select people, but it existed. And so, for those few precious seconds, Grant Wilson held on … held onto the hours remaining to him, and held onto his male parent.

He wouldn't be here much longer, and before he took his father to see his mini-me, before he gave his mini-me the chance he never had, Grant had one final gift for his father. He whispered, "He never stopped loving you, you know … Oliver Queen, I mean. No matter how angry he was with you, no matter how badly you hurt him, no matter how badly I hurt him, he never stopped loving you. And he never, ever, gave up on you." His father's arms tightened around him, and the soft inhale of breath told him … told him what he needed to know. Just as Oliver Queen never stopped loving his father, his father had never stopped loving Oliver Queen. They were men, and they didn't speak of such things, but that made that fact no less true.

Grant took a breath of his own, adding, "My mini-me will love getting to know his uncle Oliver, and his cousin William. Make sure he has that chance." Grant knew by now that his father and Queen mended fences, that Queen helped his father to find his erstwhile older brother. Things like that tended to come to light when you used your brother's alias. That, and your father figured things out quicker than you anticipated. Then again, there weren't a lot of aliases he could have used, and given the PTSD his father received on the island thanks in part to William Wintergreen, there wasn't a chance in _hell_ he'd use that bastard's name.

"I will. I swear to you, Grant, I'll do better by you this time. I promise," his father answered and once more, Grant tightened his arms around his father, because he knew what those last two words meant … and what they meant to his father. At last, though, he released his grip and pulled back to look at his father, whose remaining eye was shimmering with tears. But he was smiling as he said, "C'mon. We should make sure that your mum and Meg haven't gotten into a catfight." That was so unexpected, Grant _had_ to laugh.

"I doubt it … I had Dillon take the Carvalho ladies to Mother and mini-me, so Mother could look her over. Whatever my issues with Mother are … and they are myriad … I can't imagine her hurting an innocent woman," he answered. And he really couldn't. At least, not the version of Adeline he'd been holding captive for the last several weeks. The woman who raised him was another story entirely. But, given what happened in the last few weeks, it seemed extremely unlikely that the woman who raised him would ever come to be now.

And that was when Grant understood what his father was telling him, when he asked Grant to forgive his mother. Yes, a significant part of it was cutting himself free of the past and allowing himself to move forward … but because the woman he'd been holding captive for the last several weeks wasn't the woman he grew to hate over the course of his life. This wasn't the woman who lied to him about his father … any more than his mini-me was Grant himself. And something in Grant's chest loosened with that revelation. All this time, he'd been punishing a woman for something she hadn't even done yet, and something she wouldn't do now.

But that was to be shoved to the back of his mind, at least for now, because as he opened the door to the room where his mother and his mini-me were being kept, events took on a life of their own. Part of it was his own doing … he had to play a role, to ensure that this version of him never came to be, and that meant convincing his mini-me that nothing had changed. And of course, because he was Slade Wilson's son, that meant not telling his father the plan.

Inside the room, they found Grant's mother checking over Meg Carvalho. Grant took a deep breath, and his father looked at him, eye reflecting worry. Whether that worry was for Grant or for Meg, Grant wasn't sure. Not that it mattered. Grant knew that his father could care for more than one person at a time. He said with a smirk, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, "Well, the family is nearly complete. I just spent the last few minutes talking to my father … and Mother, if I didn't hate you before, I certainly do now for keeping him away from me." His mini-me pulled away from Angel Carvalho, just a bit … and to Grant's surprise, the teenager allowed it. At the same time, his mother rose to her feet and stood in front of Meg Carvalho protectively. Hmm. Interesting. Grant went on, "Oh, she's in no danger from me, especially since that idiot Grady ignored my orders and hurt her. I …"

"You … you're my father?" his mini-me blurted out. Grant glanced at his younger self, but the little boy's eyes were on his father, and no one else. Their father shifted his weight, ever so slightly, so that he faced Grant's mini-me. But Grant's own attention was drawn toward his mother, as she pivoted, keeping half of her body toward Grant, and helped Meg Carvalho to her feet, wrapping a supportive arm around her waist as support. But he quickly re-focused his attention, because this was a distraction to what he really wanted to see.

Their father nodded, murmuring, "Yes, Grant …. I'm your father. I'm sorry …" Grant almost laughed when his mini-me decided to do one of his flying leaps … straight into their father's arms … and quickly went into octopus mode. When was the last time he'd done that? When he was six or seven? He couldn't remember. Just watched in silent awe as his younger self wrapped his arms and legs around their father … who had staggered back at the impact of Grant's small body, but quickly recovered. And once more, Grant's memories changed, as phantom arms wrapped around him … a big, warm hand came up to cradle the back of his head. So entranced was he, that he didn't notice himself completely phasing out.

When he returned to himself, a roar of fury echoed through the warehouse. Grant smiled to himself as he watched their father carry his mini-me to a far corner of the room, away from danger, where Grant's mini-me promptly made himself even smaller. The door nearly flew off the hinges, revealing a blood-stained Grady. He stalked into the room, a knife clutched in his hand, and snarled, "Why? Why did you kill my brother, you bastard! I was the one who hit the bitch, Dillon hit your old man … Braden was innocent! Why!" Grant merely offered a disdainful look. The weeping boy repeated, "Damn you, tell me why!"

"I already told you. I gave you very specific orders. My father was not to be further harmed, and the people sheltering him were not to be harmed. You chose to ignore those instructions, Grady. You chose not to believe me. That means your brother's blood is on your hands, just as much as it is on mine. As for Dillon, I knew about him hitting my father … he told me. He also told me that Dillon was protecting him in the only way he had available to him at the time, since you ignored your orders. So … you are responsible for that as well," Grant said coldly.

Unsurprisingly, it seemed Grady didn't listen to a thing Grant said. He growled, "You killed my brother. You took my family away from me. So I'm gonna take your family away from you." Grant's eyes swept first to his father, then to his mini-me … both well out of danger, although his father was already turning to intercept Grady. Grant had no idea whom he meant, although he suspected that Meg and Angel Carvalho could become family to his mini-me, especially if his father stuck around … until his mother pushed Meg away from her, shoving both mother and daughter to the ground.

And then Grady was shoving his knife into his mother's unprotected abdomen … and Grant's vision whited out. He heard his mini-me screaming, heard his father crying out her name. When he could see once more, his father was quickly gaining ground, and his mother choked out, blood staining her teeth (had his knife punctured her lung?), "You … idiot! You … killed … the one person … in this room … my son doesn't care about." Grant watched numbly as his father took the remaining steps to grab Grady's shoulder and send a fist rocketing into his face.

The little prick hit the ground without making another sound, and the room erupted. Angel helped her mother up, then pivoted to grab Grant's mini-me as he flew toward his parents, toward their parents. Another two sets of phantom arms wrapped around Grant as the mother and daughter pulled his mini-me into their arms. Dillon … poor Dillon looked like he was in shock. He probably was. With his younger self safe with the two women who would help define him from here on out, Grant next turned his attention to the woman who created the Grant even now phasing in and out. He would no longer exist in a matter of minutes, and there was still so much to say … with so little energy to say it.

Still, he heard the whispered conversation between his parents, the apologies from his father, apologies for not being quick enough to save her, for not realizing the danger … the apologies from his mother, for keeping Grant from his father, for lying to him, for telling his older brother to lie. She … apologized. His mother, the woman who raised him, the woman he spent so many years hating … she never apologized. But that wasn't all. She choked out, from the protective circle of his father's arms, "Grant … baby … come here."

Meg released his mini-me, and Grant felt phantom fingers wiping away tears that didn't exist, felt phantom lips caressing his hair. His younger self stumbled toward his parents. His mother's dying words filled his ears, telling him that she loved him so much, that she would always be with him, even when he couldn't see her … that he was to be a good boy for his father and for Miss Meg … that he was to grow into a good man, the kind of man who protected others, the kind of man who even when he fell, found a way to get back up and move on: a man like his father. Grant closed his eyes, feeling himself phase in and out. It wouldn't be long now. There was one more thing he absolutely had to do, absolutely had to say. Gathering his strength, Grant forced his eyes open and said the one thing he never thought he would say, in this life or any other. He called, "Mother … I forgive you! I forgive you."

With those last words spoken, his mini-me united with his father, Grant let go of his hatred of his mother, and all that kept him here, and fell into the arms of eternity.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

His mother was dead.

Eleven year old Grant Nicholas Wilson listed against his father's side. Later, he would be able to see that at that particular moment in time, he was in shock. There was a part of him that always knew there was a possibility that he or his mother would die at the end of this … his mother made that very clear to him on their second week of captivity … but he always believed that his mum would die at the hands of his future self. Not … someone else. And now, his mum was dead. He had his father now, but his mum was dead.

The boy who helped to take care of them as his older self went crazier, Dillon, was hugging his cousin, the one who hadn't killed Grant's mum. The one who did was dead himself, and a man in black was kneeling beside him. Grant's father said softly, "We need to let her go now, Grant. Both of us do. We can't do anything more for her." Grant nodded, but wasn't sure if he could let go. At least, not alone. His father added, as if hearing what he was thinking, "If we let go together, we won't be alone."

"You won't be alone. Angel and I are here," said the nice lady Dillon brought in earlier, the one who was hurt, and Mum was afraid had a concussion. He liked the idea of calling her 'Miss Meg.' Her hand slid around the back of his neck, anchoring him. She had warm hands, both soft and callused, and under any other circumstances, Grant would have laughed. Angel put her arm around Grant's shoulders, and his father put his hand on Grant's back, and the boy found that with those connections, he could let his mother go. Because she was gone … she was dead, and he couldn't hold onto her any longer. She'd told him that once, when he was about six or seven, and his dog Windy died. Windy went over the Rainbow Bridge, and she would be waiting for him until it was time for him to join her, Mum had said. But he had to let her go, because she wasn't there anymore. His mum wasn't there any more, either. But his father was. Angel was. Miss Meg was. And they weren't his mum, but they could become … family?

As Grant finally released his mother, he saw that Miss Meg's hand was cradling the back of his father's skull, just as his father had done when he hugged Grant, while Angel was leaning against him. They were holding onto him, just as much as they were holding onto Grant, and the little boy was glad. His father slowly, carefully released Grant's mum, whispering something in a language that Grant didn't understand. Then he nodded to the police officers.

But the younger one said, "The dead can keep for now, Wilson. Troy, you got Meg?" When the older officer nodded, assisting Miss Meg to her feet and keeping a supportive arm around her (just as Grant's mother had, before the bad man came in), the first man knelt in front of Grant saying, "Hey, buddy … we're going to take all of you to the hospital, to make sure you're okay. You hold onto your dad's hand, okay?" Grant nodded solemnly, and slipped his fingers around his father's, and felt his father's answering squeeze. The man looked next to Angel, asking, "Are you okay, are you hurt at all? You'll be checked over as well, but I wanted to see if you needed any help walking, like your mom does."

"I'm fine. What's going to happen to the other two boys?" Angel asked softly. Grant didn't pay much attention to the conversation after that, just focused on walking out of the room and clinging to his father's hand. They'd barely gotten out of the room, when his father stopped and scooped Grant up into his arms. Once Grant was wrapped around his father, they began moving once more, Grant resting his head on his father's shoulder. Angel and the younger officer fell into step behind them with the remaining cousins.

As they walked, Grant's father said softly, "I wasn't a very good father to your older brother, Grant. And I don't know how good of a father will be to you. But I swear to you, on your mother's life … I will do my best for you. We'll be staying with Miss Meg and Angel for a while, because I made a promise to … someone else. I hurt people, people who hadn't hurt me or anyone I was trying to protect. I can't undo that, much as I wish I could … as unreal as it seems to me now. But I can help others."

"I can help you," Grant offered, "Mum and I had a dog named 'Windy,' and I helped to take care of her before she died. I was six then, or seven. Mum always said I was a very good helper." The boy's voice caught only a little on the title, and he didn't break down crying, much as he wanted to. He had to be a big boy, he had to do what his mum asked of him. His father tightened his arms around him, which made Grant happy. He already figured out that his father's arms were one of the best places in the world to be.

"I don't doubt this at all. Then the first thing we're going to do is figure out a way to help Dillon and his cousin … while we're taking care of Miss Meg and Angel. You think we can do both at the same time?" his father asked, pulling back a little to look at Grant more fully. The boy nodded emphatically and saw his father smile, truly smile. Slade Wilson said quietly as he carried Grant down the stairs that would lead them out of the warehouse, "Then that's what we'll do. I love you, Grant."

He was still quite young, but Grant suspected even then that his father didn't often say those words. It wasn't his way to say such things, but to show them. Grant whispered, "I love you, Papa." And together, they made their way out of that place of death.

TBC

Additional Author's Notes: I have no idea whatsoever what Grant's canon middle name is. I know that Joe's full name is Joseph William Wilson. I chose Nicholas because of Adeline's late sister Narelle Rose. So … according to my updated timeline, we now have about two or three chapters, rather than four. The next chapter will lay the groundwork for the very next story (which I don't yet have a title for) … just as a hint, it involves the arrival of Gideon Wilson and Bastiaan de Vries, as well as other members of Slade's family. The chapter after that will involve Malcolm, Rebecca, Tommy and Shado, and then the epilogue will wrap things up.


	10. Chapter 9: New Beginnings

Author's Notes: Okay! After much wailing and gnashing of teeth and tearing out my hair in sheer frustration, I now have a title for the next story, which involves the arrival of Gideon Wilson and Bastiaan de Vries in Destine (along with a few others). It is _Deathstroke_ : _Every Man a Quotation._ It's taken from a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote, which runs, **_Every book is a quotation_** _ **;**_ _and every house is a quotation out of all forests, and mines, and stone quarries; and_ _every man is a quotation from all his ancestors_. Considering the theme of the next story is ' _it runs in the family_ ,' I thought it was just about perfect. So. This chapter. In this chapter, the remaining cousins try to figure out where they go from here (and what kind of consequences they're facing); Slade and Oliver talk, and Grant gets a vocal introduction to his new uncle; meanwhile, in Star City, Oliver sets events in motion that will lead him to Destine, with William in tow. (And Slade is partly responsible … in a good way). As I mentioned, the primary focus of the next chapter will be on Shado, Tommy, Rebecca, Malcolm, and Dory, and the title (at least as of right now) will be _The Innocent and the Guilty_. That's, as ever, subject to change. Onward and forward, my dears!

Chapter Nine

New Beginnings

"What happens to us now?"

The question, surprisingly, didn't come from Dillon, but Braden. The two cousins were leaning against each other in the back of Troy Everette's car, Braden's side already bandaged. It was a clean slice, and while he'd lost a good deal of blood, his injuries weren't nearly as severe as they first appeared. And since he was bleeding, and she wasn't, Meg Carvalho insisted that he should be taken care of first … something that surprised the boy. A bit grudgingly, Andrew Perkins had to admit that the late (?) Grant Wilson knew what he was doing when he injured the young man. Braden passed out as much due to the shock as the pain and the blood loss. The boy would go to the hospital, along with everyone else, just as a precaution … but he would live.

Troy was seeing off the coroner's van, which held the bodies of both Adeline Kane and Grady Reston. Andrew's own cousin was fussing over his parishioners, which left Andrew taking care of the remaining cousins. Not for the first time, he realized just how young these two boys were. He sighed quietly, answering, "Not gonna lie to you boys … there will be consequences. What form those consequences take … that's gonna depend on Slade Wilson, and on the Carvalho ladies. If you're not lucky, you'll get prison time. If you are, you could get community service once Braden recovers." It was an equal bet, either way.

Personally, though, based on what he knew of the man, Andrew suspected that Wilson wouldn't be interested in pressing charges, not when the man who hurt Meg Carvalho and murdered his ex-wife was himself dead. It also wouldn't surprise him if the former mercenary took an interest in the two youngsters. He'd glanced their way often enough during the last few minutes, when he wasn't checking his phone or talking to his son. Dillon asked quietly, "What do you think will happen?" Andrew looked back at the boy, not entirely sure what to say.

Finally, however, he answered, "My sense is, given that the one actually responsible for the kidnapping, and the murder of Adeline Kane, is himself dead, they'll go easy on you … but it's a bit unpredictable." Neither of them were bad kids, but they'd spent the last several years trying to keep their older brother/cousin out of trouble … and getting into trouble at the same time. He added, "My partner and I can make recommendations, but nothing is set in stone." The boys nodded soberly, in both acknowledgment and understanding.

All three were silent for several moments, before Andrew decided to ask a question of his own. Clearing his throat a bit, he inquired, "What do you think happened to Grant Wilson?" He was still trying to wrap his mind around what he'd seen … what they'd all seen, albeit from a distance. They'd reached the top of the stairs, leading into the room where the captives were being held. He'd thought the Mirukuru army was the strangest thing imaginable … a drug, a poison, that could destroy a man's sanity even as it enhanced his body, could turn good men into monsters. This, however, was something else entirely … seeing a man vanish in front of their eyes.

Dillon answered hesitantly, "He isn't dead, because the current Grant Wilson is alive. It's just that now, that version doesn't exist. He would phase in and out, because he was being unmade … with every story his mother told the current Grant about his father, with every action that the child feared. He no longer exists, and hopefully now, he never will. Grant can be whoever and whatever he wants to be now. The slate is completely clean for him."

Andrew turned that over in his mind. He'd been told that out of the three of them, it was Dillon who spent the most time with the disturbed time-traveler … had seen him change from the time he first hired the three of them to the man who forgave his mother at the end of her life (and his). He murmured, "If only we all got that kind of second chance." Everyone got second chances, in one way or another, but Grant Wilson, the child, was getting a special kind of second chance.

"I think that's what he was really looking for. Grant, I mean, when he came back in time. He said that he wanted to end Oliver Queen before he could make trouble for his dad, but he ended up in the wrong time. So, since he couldn't do that, he decided that he would end things for his mother instead. Except, he ended up changing himself so much by taking his mother and younger self hostage, he changed himself out of existence," Dillon observed.

That was a bit extreme, but Grant Wilson was Slade Wilson's son, and there was a man who knew more than a few things about extreme. All three fell silent once more, quietly watching what was going on outside the squad car. It was a comfortable silence, although both boys seemed to be waiting for … something. He wasn't entirely sure for what. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he was waiting for. Finally, Braden asked softly, "Where do we go from here?"

Andrew knew what the boy meant. But since he'd already answered that, he chose to answer him literally, because that was the best way to answer him, at least for now, saying, "First, we take you to the hospital and make sure that you really are okay. And then … we'll figure out the rest. Don't worry, boys … I have a feeling that this will be a turnaround for you both." _Especially_ , he added silently, _now that you can live your own life, rather than worry about keeping your crazy older brother and cousin out of trouble._ For these two boys, this could be a new beginning. Really, it could be that for them all. They only had to take the opportunity in front of them.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

Grant had plastered himself to his side, ever since leaving the warehouse, and that was fine with Slade. He wasn't inclined to let him out of his sight. Father Rick Gillmore observed in between his running that the youngster was likely to be clingy for a while, whilst Meg observed from her gurney that the 'clingy' door swung both ways. She wasn't wrong. The child's warmth at his side was … reassuring to Slade. It reassured him that this wasn't a dream, that he'd truly found his youngest … and that he had a second chance at being a father.

He kept one arm around Grant while checking his mobile with his free hand. Not long after she was placed on the gurney, Meg reminded him to let Oliver know that Grant was found and with him. Angel laughed, almost hysterically, and observed that her mother was mother-henning people even with a concussion. Meg answered primly that it hadn't yet been established that she did, actually, have a concussion, and she was a mother, so mother-henning was part of her job. Slade just rolled his eye and texted his younger brother. That was one of the last things the kid said to him before Slade hung up in the hospital … _let me know when you find Grant. I need to know that he's okay, that you're together._

He'd been sitting atop Father Rick's car for the last ten minutes, listening to Grant's earnest observations when his mobile rang. Slade glanced down at it … and caller id informed him that Oliver was calling him. There was a second of indecision … did he answer it or call the kid later? Grant made that decision for him, saying, "Is that my uncle Oliver?" Slade looked at his youngest and nodded, and Grant's eyes lit up. Slade smiled and pressed the 'accept' button, followed by the 'speaker' icon. Whether or not that was a good thing, remained to be seen.

"Hey, kid," he began … and that was all he had a chance to say, because for the next five minutes, he was reminded of all the times on the island when Oliver drove him crazy with his chattering. Grant listened, blinking up at Slade, who just smirked at his son. He covered his laugh with a cough a few seconds later when Grant face-palmed himself backward. Luckily, he didn't hit his head against the bonnet of the car … Slade wasn't yet ready to find out if his youngest had the hard Wilson head, and one head injury a day due to a car was enough (never mind what Meg said, there was no way she didn't have a head injury after that).

Oliver's chattering came to an abrupt halt when Grant sighed, "He really talks a lot, doesn't he, Papa?" There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, and Grant used that silence to his benefit, saying, "Hi, Uncle Oliver … I'm Grant. Papa just found me today, along with Angel and Miss Meg. Papa is mostly okay, Angel's fine, and they're afraid that Miss Meg has a concussion, so they're going to take her to the hospital as soon as they change the tire on the ambulance, to make sure that she's okay." All of this was said so matter-of-factly, Slade almost had a hard time believing that this was the same kid who'd been plastered to his side for the last several minutes. Then again, everyone dealt with trauma in a different way.

And he couldn't deny the warmth in Oliver's voice as he responded, "Hello, Grant … I'm very glad you're okay. And I can't wait to meet you. Your father has been looking for you for a while. But … what do you mean that he's mostly okay?" Slade would have face-palmed himself, but that would have meant removing his arm from his son's shoulders … something he definitely didn't want to do. So, instead, he just closed his remaining eye and shook his head. People talked about his mother-henning tendencies, but the kid was just as bad.

"He got hit in the head. Mum says … said … that he has a hard head, but Uncle Oliver, if Miss Meg might have a concussion because her head got slammed into a door, couldn't Papa?" Grant asked, now sounding scared. And the worry, the fear, that he'd managed to put away at the beginning of the call made its return. Before Oliver had a chance to say anything, Slade intervened, tightening his arm around his child, a quiet reminder that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere, and right now, it would take a crowbar to remove him from Grant's life … and good luck even with that.

"I do have a hard head, Grant … and my head wasn't slammed into a car door, like what happened to Miss Meg. But. If it will make you feel better, I'll get checked out when we go to hospital with Miss Meg," Slade told his son (and his kid brother, by extension). Grant looked relieved (as he hoped), and Slade went on, "But Grant is right. The woman I've been staying with … we were captured this morning. I surrendered myself … not a word, kid … and the arse who was holding Meg slammed her head into the car door. Being taken was part of the plan … her being injured was not."

He couldn't help but grin at Oliver's muttered, "Now why does that sound familiar?" At his normal tone of voice, the kid went on more seriously, "I hope she'll be okay. Grant, I need you to do something for me. I'm trying to work out when I can come see you, but until I do get there, I need you to look after your dad for me. Can you do that?" Slade started to speak, but his son's expression had him closing his mouth very quickly.

"I will! And Angel and Miss Meg will help. Actually, they've been taking care of Papa all along. Angel said she would teach me how to help them, because Papa's a bit stubborn about letting people take care of him … and taking care of him can be a full-time job!" Grant exclaimed. Slade squeezed his remaining eye shut, trying valiantly to shut out Oliver's laughter ringing out over the parking lot. He was gonna kill the kid … the one on the other end of the line, not the one sitting beside him.

And it was then that he was saved, however temporarily, as Lindy's car blew into the parking lot. Angel called her honorary aunt as soon as they emerged from the warehouse, since Detective Everette had his hands full (literally) with the girl's mother … and as Meg put it, if Lindy wasn't notified, there would be hell to pay later on. The ginger, who'd become nervous around him ever since his hospital stay, emerged from her car as if it was on fire, looked around wildly, before making a beeline for the gurney currently holding Meg. Slade shook his head. No one was sure if the ambulance ran over something on its way over, or the foreign object was embedded in the tire during a previous run.

And because he needed to talk to his brother in at least semi-privacy, Slade told his son, "That's Miss Lindy, Miss Meg's best friend. I need you to do something for me … keep Miss Meg company while Miss Lindy looks her over, and then let her examine you. That'll keep her occupied, and let Miss Meg rest." Grant looked torn about being away from him, even for a little while, and Slade added, "I swear to you, I will stay right here, where you can see me, and not move until you get back." And because he did remember when Joe was that age, and looked at him in just that way, Slade offered his pinkie finger to his youngest.

Grant looked back and forth between Meg and Slade, before slipping his (much smaller) pinkie finger around his father's (much larger) one, and asking warily, "Pinkie promise?" Slade nodded, and the boy reluctantly released him and started to head over to the anxious ginger currently making Meg's head ache even worse (he tried not to laugh when Meg complained of just that, and Lindy retorted, _that's my job, you ninny_!). Grant took a few steps before turning to face Slade, to make sure he was still there. Slade just smiled at him quietly and reassured, Grant turned back toward Meg, Lindy, and Angel. Once he reached the trio, Lindy immediately began fussing over him, successfully distracting her from Meg … something the brunette immediately picked up on, for she mouthed, 'thank you' around Lindy.

Slade merely smiled at her and returned his attention to his conversation with his pain in the arse kid brother, saying in the most pleasant voice he could, "I am going to kill you for that, you know that, don't you, kid?" He was rewarded with Oliver's laughter once more, and Slade shook his head. How far they had come, when Oliver could recognize a threat to kill him as being just the opposite. Just as quickly, the amusement fled, leaving only exhaustion. He said in a much softer voice as Father Rick Gillmore (former mercenary, it seemed) emerged from the warehouse and headed toward the ambulance, "I don't know how I'm gonna do this, kid. I failed Joe, and that was with both me and Adeline there. Meg'll be there to help, but I'm not sure how much experience she and Angel have with traumatized kids who saw their mother die and suddenly find themselves with a father they barely know."

He dropped his voice even further. It evidently wasn't soft enough, because Gillmore said in overly-loud voice as he passed Slade, "Oh, gee, if only you knew someone with a young son who barely knows them and lost their mother in a traumatic way!" Slade swatted at the priest, exchanging a Look with the deacon following behind him. The slightly-younger man (well, he was around Slade's own age) wore an expression best described as 'long-suffering,' and Slade had to wonder how many times the deacon found himself in this position.

"Either help the ambulance crew change the tire or fuss over Meg, just make up your mind and stop pestering me," Slade snarked at the priest. Deacon Andy smirked at him as he trailed after his boss … and it wasn't until much, much later that it occurred to him that Gillmore's comment wasn't meant for him at all. Or that the intended target would almost immediately start making plans to join him in Destine. By the time it _did_ occur to him, Meg was being released from hospital and the rest of Team Deathstroke (as Angel insisted on calling them, even though they weren't a team, Slade didn't do teams) trying to figure out where Grant would sleep … beside his father in the dressing room, as it turned out.

DSDSDSDSDSDSDSDS

Star City, Oregon

Same Time

Mayor Oliver Queen slowly hung up the phone after concluding his conversation with Slade Wilson. Slade was so many things to him, over the course of his life … irritant, mentor, friend, brother, nemesis, ally, brother once again. In the months since Thea's awakening, he'd begun sharing stories of the island and his time with Slade and Shado, so his little sister could begin to understand. It would take Thea a long time (if ever) to forgive Slade, but at least now she was starting to understand why _he_ could.

For now, though, his mind was already working to figure out the best way to cover all bases. Item: he had a young son for whom he was responsible now, who relied on him. Item: he was the mayor of Star City and had an obligation to the citizens of the city. Item: the man who was his brother in all but blood just found his son, and the boy lost his mother in a traumatic fashion, just as Oliver's own son William did. And while Slade would never say the words, Oliver knew that his older brother needed him.

"Everything okay, Ollie?" Thea asked quietly, sitting atop his desk. She'd been wrapping up a briefing when Slade texted him about Grant, and rolled her eyes at his hesitation to call Slade. _Call him_ , she said with a fond exasperation that reminded him so much of Slade it took his breath away, _you won't be able to focus until you hear from him yourself_. No one whom Oliver knew was better at taking care of himself than Slade, but Oliver would never stop worrying about his big brother.

"Slade found his younger son, Grant. He and Slade's ex were kidnapped … there was an altercation between the kidnappers, and the ex was killed, in front of the boy," Oliver explained. Thea flinched, but whether she was thinking of their mother's death or Samantha's death on the island, it was hard to say. Oliver went on, "One of the people who were helping in the aftermath said something that hit me. How it was too bad that Slade didn't know anyone with a young son they barely knew, who lost his mother in traumatic event."

Thea eyed him before saying, "And now you're trying to figure out a way to balance all of your obligations, and help Slade and his son." Oliver nodded. His little sister tapped her lip thoughtfully for several moments, before saying slowly, "Ollie … when you went to help Slade the last time … didn't you use your credentials as a mayor?" Oliver nodded slowly, not yet seeing where his sister was going with this. He found out a moment later when Thea added, "Why not do the same now?"

Why not? Oliver frowned thoughtfully and Thea's phone chimed. With an apologetic look to Oliver, she slid down from his desk and walked away, leaving him to stare at his computer thoughtfully. All right … how would he do that? Liberty Watch was Slade's idea, but how could Oliver turn this to his advantage? He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. He was the mayor of a city on the West Coast of the United States … his chosen brother was currently protecting a city in the center of the country.

His mind began to drift to other things, to the paperwork he'd signed this morning; to … wait. Oliver's eyes flew open, and he began to scroll through his emails. Quentin Lance sent him something … there! He clicked on the email, titled, 'Sister Cities?' Sara's father had been doing research on city outreach … and one possibility he came up with was sister cities. Sister cities. Oliver began to smile. That was perfect. Thea, concluding her phone call, asked warily, "Ollie? You look like the cat who ate the canary … oh, hush!"

Oliver laughed at her unintended double entendre before saying, "I have a project for you, Speedy." His little sister rolled her eyes at him and the nickname he wouldn't let die, but listened as he continued, "I need you to do some research into the town of Destine, Missouri … specifically, who the current mayor is, and how I would contact him or her." Thea frowned thoughtfully, but slid her cell phone into her pocket and shifted her tablet back into her hand. Why she did that, when she could have looked it up on the phone, he had no idea, but as long as it worked for her, that was all that mattered.

Meanwhile, his mind was speeding along. He wasn't entirely sure what the protocols were for creating sister cities, but he wasn't exactly a conventional mayor, in any sense of the word. If it wasn't protocol to visit ahead of the signing of the papers, he could offer that as a valid reason. And it certainly seemed reasonable … in a sense, he was allying his city with someone else's. Of course he would want to see it before cementing that alliance. Thea cleared her throat and Oliver looked up at his sister, who said, "The current mayor of Destine is one Jacob Butler, and here is his email." She handed him the tablet, and Oliver grinned up at his sister. Thea asked, "Okay, Ollie … what are you planning?"

"Sister cities," he answered succinctly as he began typing up the email to Mayor Jacob Butler. Thea's eyebrows shot up into her hairline as she mouthed, 'sister cities.' He saw her running the possibilities through her mind before she smiled. Oliver went on, "I'm emailing the mayor now, Speedy, but I'm giving him your cell phone number … I have a meeting with one of William's teachers; yes, on a Sunday, it was the only time we both had free time available. If Mayor Butler calls you, just let him know that I'm unable to take calls and will get back to him as soon as possible." Thea nodded as Oliver re-read the missive and ran it through spell/grammar check, before hitting 'send.'

"Sister cities … I don't think we have any yet. In fact, I'm not even sure if it's ever been up for discussion. Stroke of genius, Ollie," his little sister told him with a smile. She added after a moment, "Now get going, you don't want to be late for your meeting at William's school." Oliver swore under his breath and locked his computer, pausing just long enough to kiss the top of Thea's head before scurrying out of his office, mentally calculating how long it would take him to get to his meeting, and if he would have time to pick up William on the way there.

 _I'm coming_ , Slade, he mentally told his brother, _and I'm bringing help_. He didn't know who issued that challenge, because that was exactly what it was … but it was someone who knew of the connection between Oliver and Slade. He would find out when he got there … and then he would thank them.

TBC

Additional Author's Notes: I repeat, reviews or comments in general can provide inspiration for chapters. Such as the 'shout-out' from Father Rick in the second section, that prompted Oliver's decision to reach out to Jacob Butler to establish Star City and Destine as sister cities, and there will be more about that in the epilogue (chapter after next) … that particular inspiration was provided by Acolyte of Daniel. So, keep it clean, keep it polite … if it works, I'll use it and give you credit. If I don't, you haven't lost anything, either. Like I said, the next chapter will be ' _The Innocent and the Guilty_ ,' and will focus on the Merlyns, on Dory, and on Shado. And yes, with this chapter, I've added Oliver to the cast of characters, because he'll be important in the next two chapters, especially the third.


	11. Ch 10:The First Step is the Longest

Author's Notes: Have I ever mentioned how annoying my mind can be? Last night, after my Cardiac 'Canes tied their series with the reigning Stanley Cup champions, the Washington Capitals, it took me a while to let go (which is normal when I'm excited). I finally headed to bed, exhausted but happy. I had no sooner gotten settled when I was informed that the chapter title would no longer be ' _The Innocent and the Guilty_.' Instead, it was being changed to ' _The First Step Is_ _The Longest Stride_ ,' part of the lyrics to ' _If Today Was Your Last Day_ ' by Nickelback, because dammit all, it fits better with the arching theme of the chapter. Yes, I like Nickelback's songs; no, I'm not even remotely embarrassed, and yes, I'm exasperated because they did this to me when I had no pen and paper handy. I'm grateful I was able to remember it this morning when I woke up. Okay. Rant over. Also yes, I wrote this chapter in one day. So, here we come to the penultimate chapter. In this chapter, Malcolm continues his rehab; Tommy reacts to what his father's doing whilst watching over Oliver with Shado; and Rebecca makes her way to the US. Next chapter is the epilogue.

Chapter Ten

The First Step is the Longest Stride

Somewhere in South Asia

Undetermined Time

"Why am I doing this again?"

He winced … not just at the pain shooting through his leg (his very much intact leg, and he still didn't know how that was possible when he should be in so many pieces), but at the whining note in his voice. He hadn't meant to whine … he was alive, after all, and he had no reason to be, no right to be. And his … guide, as she called herself … didn't look especially impressed, either. And when she was less than impressed, she wasn't especially shy about it. She proved this a moment later with her response.

"Because you killed over five hundred people, including your own son, and you don't seem to have much empathy for people not as strong as you … or rather, as strong as you perceive yourself to be," came the immediately rejoinder. Malcolm Merlyn glowered at the dark-haired woman leaning against the wall of his room? Cell? Quarters? He wasn't entirely sure what to call his current living space. He wasn't, technically speaking, a prisoner … however, since he wasn't entirely sure where he was, he couldn't escape. And … he was curious, about Kali, if nothing else. What her real name was, why she was involved in this, how she saved him.

She returned his look, adding, "The path to redemption, to resurrection, isn't just about realizing you seriously screwed up in every way imaginable, and trying to fix things. No, you also have to repair what's broken in yourself … you have to create new habits. Shut up, it isn't easy, talking like this for me. How many names have you said?" Malcolm looked at the notebook in his lap. It was about the same size as the notebooks his son had used when he was in school (and it wouldn't surprise him at all if that was why Kali used them).

"Four hundred eighty … fine, rephrase, when will my repetition of these names be enough?" Malcolm asked. Kali looked even less impressed than she had a few minutes earlier (and he hadn't thought that was possible). However, Malcolm was serious, adding, "This is the fifth time today I've repeated these names, and I repeated them ten times yesterday. When will it be enough?" Kali pushed off the wall and stalked forward until she could glower down into his eyes. Malcolm glowered right back, even if he was sitting on a cold stone floor wearing thin trousers and no shoes … it was like he told his daughter on more than one occasion. Pain is inevitable … suffering is not.

"When you get it through that thick skull of yours that those were people, dammit! Human beings with hearts and souls! People who had problems of their own, people who didn't even live in the Glades when your wife was murdered! Tommy was eight when his mother died … what was his crime? What were the crimes of the children and the teenagers who died that night? Do I blame you for hating the people who refused to help your Rebecca? Not in the slightest. If my husband died the same way your Rebecca did, I'd kill every last person responsible, starting with the shooter and ending with the people who walked past him. But you didn't stop there … not until it was you on that mine, sacrificing yourself to save your daughter. So what makes Thea so special, that you're willing to sacrifice yourself for her, but you sacrificed Tommy for revenge?" Malcolm flinched at that, because in Kali's words, he heard an echo of his own words to Oliver Queen, so many years ago, on the night of the Undertaking.

But Kali wasn't finished. She went on, "I'll stop when you admit the truth. Daniel Brickwell wasn't the only one who killed your wife. You know that. But here's the problem. You can't forgive the people of the Glades. Understandable. You can't forgive yourself … also understandable. And you won't allow yourself to blame Rebecca. Perhaps most understandable of all. So … how do you come to terms with it? A whole lot of Rebeccas died that night … some in the chaos, some during the earthquake. If your thought was to prevent another little boy from growing up without his mother, you failed. If you wanted to protect other young mothers from meeting the same fate, you failed. I'm told that Oliver Queen made his entrance by telling his target that he or she failed your city. You didn't just fail your city, Malcolm … you failed your wife and you failed both of your children."

True, true, and true. When he awakened and … went through the purging ritual, Malcolm found the reasons he'd provided so many times now rang hollow in his ears. He finally said softly, "I'm asking another question, then. How does this even come close to atoning for the lives I took, the people I hurt? Robert … Moira … Thea … Tommy … Oliver." He'd meant it when he told Oliver that he'd always seen him as a son. But his grief and rage (and yes, his guilt) over Rebecca's murder eclipsed everything else … even his love for his little boy, even his love for Oliver. And over time, that grief and rage and guilt metasized into something else.

Now Kali sat down in front of him, answering, "It doesn't. Not even close. But you have to start somewhere, and remembering, knowing the names of those you killed … knowing that this is a sample of those people … that's as good a place as any to start. And while you do that, try to answer my question from earlier … what is the difference between Thea and Tommy? Did you save Thea, to atone for your mistakes with Tommy, that led to his death? Is that what you would tell your son if he was standing here now before you?"

What would he say if his son was standing here before him now? What could he say for abandoning him when Tommy needed him most, for returning so different? The man who loved Rebecca and Tommy more than his own life was not the man who returned from Nanda Parbat two years later. For the years that followed Rebecca's murder, for the Undertaking itself? Tommy was more Rebecca's son than his, in so many ways, but that should have made him more protective of his son … their child was Rebecca's greatest gift to him.

He said softly, "I wouldn't know where to begin. I wasn't the father he deserved … I wasn't the father Thea deserved … I wasn't the husband Rebecca deserved. Before that night, Rebecca and Tommy were my whole world … and I can't tell you what changed me. My actions ended the life of my son … I turned my daughter into a weapon … and the man who Rebecca married would have never done those things. I went to Nanda Parbat, trying to find answers, but I started changing even before then, and I don't know why."

Kali dropped into a crouch beside him, saying softly, "And there's your first step. It would have been easy to blame Ra's al Ghul for the changes in yourself … but you've admitted that it started before you got to Nanda Parbat. So. Here is an answer for you … we all respond to trauma in different ways. You may not have acknowledged it, but you were traumatized by your wife's murder, and all that came with it. You aren't responsible for the trauma … you are responsible for not seeking out help."

Put like that, Malcolm couldn't argue with her. He could have told her that he'd wanted to clean up the Glades … which was somewhat true. He'd wanted that, but he also wanted revenge for the great gaping emptiness where his wife once was. But long before he'd tried to level the Glades, he'd leveled his relationship with his son. And no matter what you were doing, you had to start small in order to work up to the big things. He asked hoarsely, "Is it too late for me to ask for help?" For the first time, Kali smiled at him.

"No. So long as you live, it's not too late. In some ways, Malcolm, you were drowning and you didn't realize it. You've asked for help now, and I'll help you in any way I can. Finish the litany of names. Accept what your actions led to. And we can build on that," she answered softly. Malcolm still wasn't sure what the litany of names was supposed to accomplish, but for the first time, he could accept that in time, he would. As Kali rose to her feet, she said over her shoulder, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to call my husband. My step-daughter is seven years old … she just had her first soccer game, and I want to see how she did."

Malcolm nodded, but it wasn't until she was out of the room that he understood what she was telling him at the end. For all that they just met, Kali knew him terrifyingly well … knew that there was a time, not so long ago, when he would have regarded such tidbits of information about herself as leverage. That she was trusting him with this information now told him that he'd taken an important step forward, so far as Kali was concerned.

With that in mind, he returned his attention to the litany of names once more and began reading them aloud. But this time, he focused on names that were familiar, starting with the most familiar, most beloved name of all. He whispered, "Thomas Malcolm Merlyn, age twenty-eight. Tommy. My Tommy." And for the first time in too long, tears began slipping down his face as he truly grieved for his son, and what his drive for revenge had cost them both.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

Everywhere and nowhere

Same Approximate Time

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel … compassion for his father's (belated) grief; relief that he was finally understanding what he'd done wrong through those years and actually cared; or bitterness that a strange woman from another dimension entirely succeeded where he failed. This woman, this Kali … got through to his father, when he couldn't. Tommy Merlyn had no idea how to feel about that. Shado said softly, _You didn't fail, Tommy. He did. It wasn't your job to reach him, it was his job to reach out to you. He failed._

He looked up at the beautiful woman who stood beside him. When Laurel died at the hands of Damien Darkh, it was Shado who held onto him as his mother 'caught' Laurel. It wasn't yet time for her to join them (he didn't understand what his mother meant, not until the Laurel from another dimension arrived in theirs). And now, Shado was offering comfort in the only way anyone could. She smiled sadly, adding _, He forgot it, but your father did love you. It got lost in his hatred for the people of the Glades, and his rage, but he never stopped loving you._

Yes, Tommy knew all that … but he still didn't know what to _do_ with it. And so, he turned his attention away from his father… and to the person who was there for him all through those years. In the beginning, he'd been so angry with Oliver, thinking that he hadn't trusted him with the truth about the Hood. But the truth was, Ollie'd been trying to protect him. And the island changed him, changed him so much. Shado followed his gaze, smiling a little as they watched someone they'd both loved talk with his son's teacher. She said, her voice still very soft, _He tries so hard to be the father William needs._

 _Tries to be the father that neither of us had … the father he didn't have until he got to the island. He and Slade call each other brothers, and they are … they are … but Slade raised him, too. I wish he remembered that … whatever his failings with Joe were, he succeeded with Ollie,_ Tommy answered. He smiled at William's exasperation toward his father, because Ollie was doing something that William thought was embarrassing. Ollie just laughed and ruffled his son's hair and told him that's what parents did.

 _He's still reeling from Joe's revelations, about watching him kill that Chinese spy, the one who told him where my father was. Let me guess, you aren't especially sympathetic to Joe_? Shado asked and Tommy shook his head, his eyes never leaving his life-long best friend.

 _No. Because while Slade may have been on a mission when he took Joe to Milford Sound, when he was with Joe, he was completely there, focused on his son. What Joe became is on him, not on Slade_ , Tommy answered firmly. Were mistakes made? Without question … there always were … but by both of Joe's parents. As his own mother liked to say, it took two to tango, and the decision to lie to Joe about his parents' occupations were made by both parents, not just one. He returned his attention to Oliver, who was trying manfully not to tease his son about his obvious crush on his teacher. One of the rites of passage of growing up, Tommy thought.

Father and son were heading back to Ollie's car, the man teasing the boy by asking him if he wanted to go to the zoo or the aquarium. Both Shado and Tommy found themselves laughing at William's obvious exasperation, because he wasn't a kid, Dad! Ollie just laughed and wrapped his arm around William's shoulders, answering, ' _you're not a little kid, but you're my kid_.' Tommy swallowed hard, because despite the failings of their parents, Ollie was turning out to be a good father. Maybe it was Slade Wilson's influence, because it wasn't Robert Queen's.

Shado smiled as William asked if they could just ride around the city, a plan Ollie quickly agreed to. Mayor Butler hadn't called yet, but Tommy knew that was because the man was enjoying his own Sunday with his ten year old grandson. It was too cold to go fishing (which was their preferred spring/summer activity together), so the mayor of Destine was cheering his only grandson on at his hockey game. He would get the email in the morning, when he got to his office at city hall. It wasn't an emergency … it would wait.

Sister cities … that was … Tommy shook his head, smiling at Ollie's ingenuity. It was perfect. Like their shared little sister had said, Star City didn't have a sister city (yet), and the more the siblings looked at Destine and Star City, the better they liked the idea. So did Tommy. Actually, so did Shado, and so would Dory when they told her. Shado said softly as Ollie and William got to the car, _Whatever else you want to say about the island … and there is much to be said … it taught Oliver to think outside the box. Although … so did Amanda Waller._

Tommy made a face, echoing the disdain he heard in Shado's voice. But her statement gave him the courage to ask something he'd wanted to know for such a long time. Even with his newfound courage, his voice was still hesitant as he asked, _Shado … if I'd been with Ollie and you two on the island … do you think you could have … would I have …?_ And now his words, his voice failed him. He couldn't get the words out. If he still had a physical body, he would have said that the words got stuck in his throat.

But, as it turned out, saying the words weren't necessary. Shado smiled at him gently, answering, _Once you decided that you wanted to live … yes. That was the first step that Oliver needed to take on the island, the first step that we all needed to take: Oliver, when the yacht went down; Slade, when Billy betrayed him; myself, when my father died. It is said that the first step is the longest stride, and this is so very true, particularly when it comes to survival._

That … never occurred to him. He'd always heard, this person was a survivor, but it never really occurred to him that those people made the choice to be survivors. But … of course they did. It was foolish to think otherwise. And there were many types of survivors in the world … you couldn't do much about a piece of rebar sticking out of your chest, or a bullet to the head, but …

Shado interrupted his thoughts, saying, _Slade and I could have trained you, could have taught you as we did Oliver. Would we have come to love you, as we did Oliver? Probably, though the seeds would have been different for you. It has been said many times that you are your mother's son … and Rebecca is a nurturer. It is no shame for a man to be a nurturer, because men nurture in their own ways. There are times when I wish you were on the island with us. I suspect that you might have been able to prevent Slade's vendetta against Oliver, because you would have told Slade the truth about my death … if I died. Yes, Slade would have grumbled and griped about you, would have been exasperated and annoyed … but he would have taught you, just as he did Oliver. And, we would have all been the better for it._

Just as he didn't know what to do with his father's newly-discovered grief for him, Tommy didn't know what to do with Shado's declaration. And, it seemed, she understood that, for she added, _For now, though, it seems they found something else to do on this glorious Sunday. Look._ Tommy did … and laughed softly. As Shado noted, Ollie was no longer driving around the city … had stopped in his and Tommy's favorite park when they were kids, before Rebecca Merlyn was murdered. He could almost see his father sitting in the stands of the tiny baseball diamond as the two boys played catch. And maybe, in those memories, in the image of his best friend playing catch with the nephew Tommy would never have the chance to meet … maybe Tommy could find the seeds of forgiveness for his father.

DSDSDSDSDS

Washington, DC

Shortly before 7:30 pm local time

Rebecca Merlyn eased her backpack onto her shoulders as she waited patiently to leave her row on the airplane. They'd arrived a little ahead of schedule from London, which was a good thing … she had a little more time to clear passport control and security here in the States. But she was back in her home country, albeit under another woman's passport, and this time tomorrow, she would be in St. Louis. It had been a long journey, since waking up in Veronica Morales' body … and she still had far to go, both physically and … otherwise. A quick twist upward allowed her to tug her duffel bag free from the overhead bin, without getting anyone's way.

After recovering her strength to the point that she could be moved, she was evacuated from Aleppo to Beirut in nearby Lebanon, where she departed early this morning. She'd eaten a light breakfast in Beirut, lunch during her five hour layover in London, and she would be eating dinner in DC. Such was the life of a globe-trotter, she observed ruefully to herself. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed traveling. True, being stuck in an overgrown, pressurized sardine can for eight hours wasn't necessarily fun … but getting to see things through her borrowed eyes was. She'd accompanied Malcolm on his travels and loved it. Tommy joined them later … Rebecca smiled sadly, remembering her four year old son oohing and ahhing over the cockpits he was allowed to visit, the endless questions he asked, and her husband's equally endless patience. Allowing that memory free proved to be a mistake.

How had it gone so wrong? If you asked her, even the day before her murder at the hands of Daniel Brickwell, if Malcolm would turn away from his son, even with her death, she would have laughed. There was no way that would ever happen. Tommy adored his father, and Malcolm adored him right back. They often conspired together, there was no way Malcolm could ever stop loving Tommy so fiercely. What … happened? As she slipped into the aisle, blinking back tears, Rebecca forced herself to stop thinking about it. There was nothing she could do about her husband's … whatever that was. Psychotic break? That was the best she could do. She had a mission before her, and that was what she needed to focus on.

In the weeks since her awakening, Rebecca became aware of a remnant of what was once Veronica Morales. Not her spirit as such, but an awareness. There was a part of Veronica that remained, and was aware of Rebecca. She seemed to be also aware that Rebecca's usurping of her body wasn't the other woman's choice and bore her no ill will. That was a relief. As Rebecca left the aircraft and made her way to Passport Control, she considered what came next … namely, getting from the airport to Destine. Really, she should have done this sooner, but was focusing on … other things, at the time. And now, she had nothing but time.

The line in Passport Control was painfully long, but Rebecca was in no hurry. She used the time to look into public transit in the St. Louis area. There was the Metro, which ran from the airport into Missouri's neighbor to the east, Illinois, but she was hoping to find a bus running from St. Louis to Destine. Of course, first she had to establish that Destine had a bus stop … which, much to her astonishment, it did. Excellent. That made things a little easier. The line began moving a little quicker, so Rebecca put away her research for now.

Within minutes, her passport and non-immigrant visa were both being examined by the CBP agent and she was being questioned about her time and reason for being in the US. She had to actually remind herself that Veronica Morales was not a United States citizen, and instead told the agent that she wasn't entirely sure how long she would be here as she was on medical leave from Doctors Without Borders and was in the States visiting an old friend who lived near St. Louis, Missouri. What she didn't tell him was that she had no idea if she was returning to Doctors Without Borders. That wasn't something he needed to know.

She was wished a pleasant stay in the US and sent onward to security. Since she only had what was in her backpack and duffel bag, she bypassed the luggage carousel and was through security within ten minutes. A quick glance at her watch told her that she now had about four and half hours to kill. Nowhere near enough time to leave the airport (not that she really wanted to) … so, first order of business was to find a bathroom, and then roam around the airport for a while. She'd spent the last eight hours sitting … walking around a while would feel good.

And it gave her time to think. Her first order of business, once she arrived in Destine, was to find Dory. This was one area where she could _not_ be Veronica, who would be expected to locate her friend Meg. She had to be Rebecca in this case, not Veronica. Besides, Dory might be able to help her maintain her cover as Veronica. She had this recurring fear of getting to Meg, and have the other woman realize within minutes that she wasn't really Veronica. How she would figure that out, Rebecca had no idea … but fear wasn't always rational. Besides, she had most of Veronica's memories, and whatever she got wrong, she could explain away … right?

Right. So, focus on finding her way around the airport, and stretching her legs. Soon enough, she would be back in the oversized sardine can. And, as she found out, Dulles was a big airport. Two hours later, she collapsed into a chair at her gate and glanced at her watch. Her legs hurt, her back hurt, her shoulders hurt … and really, would it kill parents to keep a closer eye on their kids? She'd lost track of the times someone's youngster ran in front of her and she'd had to come to an immediate and screeching halt or risk running over the child (and gotten a dirty look from the parent, because _of course_ their child wasn't doing anything wrong by running into the path of an exhausted traveler. The airport was their child's playground, _everyone_ knew that). That was bad enough, but adults were even worse about stepping in front of people. This part of travel wasn't good on the nerves. Or maybe she didn't have the patience she remembered having. Rebecca mentally shook her head. It didn't matter. This situation was temporary. She had to remember that … this was temporary.

She had a little over two hours 'til the flight, and about an hour before boarding. She would rest a few minutes, see about transportation from the St. Louis airport to Destine … oh. Oh, she should have thought of that sooner. Biting her lower lip, Rebecca did a search for one Dorcas Webster, smiling to herself when she located her friend's phone number. She hit 'call' and waited breathlessly for an answer … that never came. Much to her annoyance, Rebecca found herself blinking back tears when she got Dory's voice mail.

It was to be expected, really … Dory had a business to run, and as Rebecca knew, Saturday and Sunday were often her most busy days. It was to be expected. So, she said in a husky voice, "Dory, it's Rebecca. I … I know I sound different, but it is me. I'm in the States, and I'm on my way to Destine. I need you to call me back … I need your help so badly." She paused, and then provided her friend with the number to her cell phone before hanging up. She buried her face in her hands. Of all the stupid reasons to break down … Rebecca took a deep breath and released it. Okay. She had more time before her flight began boarding. She would go to the bathroom and wash her face, grab a snack, and … her hands began trembling. Rebecca stared at her hands as if she'd never seen them before … then grabbed her duffel bag and bolted for the bathroom. She just made it to a stall when she broke down.

The worst part was, she wasn't even sure why she was crying … but she was, and uncontrollably. She suppressed the wails of grief and frustration and … too many other things to name with the back of her hand, collapsing against the side of the stall. At last, the storm began to abate, and she sagged down onto the edge of the toilet seat, a few whimpers breaking free. Outside the stall, there continued to be murmurs and women coming in and leaving the restroom. Rebecca wiped her eyes and blew her nose, quietly resolving to wash her face when she left the sanctuary of the bathroom stall.

When the murmur of voices and footsteps outside her stall began to quiet, Rebecca emerged from the stall and made for the sink, splashing cold water on her face, and then patting it dry. Her eyes were red, and it was obvious that she'd been crying, but it couldn't be helped. Rebecca took a deep breath, glanced at her watch, and straightened her shoulders. She had three hours before boarding … she needed to get something to drink and a snack. And maybe aspirin, since her crying fit left her with a pounding headache. Probably should get water, instead of something, as that same crying fit left her dehydrated.

She emerged from the restroom with purpose, finding an alcove with vending machines a short distance away. The bottle of water was easy … figuring out what she wanted to eat, not so much. In the end, she chose a granola bar. She'd just tucked the granola bar inside her pocket when her cell phone began to vibrate. Saying a quick prayer, she hit 'accept' and said, "Hello?" It was a number she didn't recognize … but it was definitely inside the States.

"Becca? Sweetheart, is that you?" came the familiar, and oh so welcome, voice of Dory Webster. Rebecca nearly burst into tears once again, this time in relief, and Dory said, "Oh, honey, I'm so glad to hear from you … we were so worried when your son said you disappeared!" It took a moment for Rebecca to understand what was going on … her friend wasn't alone, but she still called her back immediately.

She answered, "I'm so sorry … I didn't mean to scare everyone, but I didn't have much of a choice. I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm heading back to you now. Can you pick me up at the airport?" Dory immediately assented and Rebecca provided her with her arrival information. Dory would be waiting for her at the airport in the baggage claim. With a promise to see her friend soon, Rebecca hung up and nearly collapsed from her relief. A weight lifted from her shoulders … she wasn't alone any more. Taking a deep breath, Rebecca grabbed her duffel bag and headed back to her gate. Finding a seat near a young man, she began to relax. His headphones didn't quite contain the music he was listening to … which wasn't bad for Rebecca, because it sounded okay to her, but it couldn't be doing his future hearing any favors.

One of the lyrics caught her attention, 'the first step is the longest stride.' She smiled to herself as she opened her water and took a swig, then turned her attention to her granola bar. She liked the idea … well, maybe because it was true. No matter what journey you were beginning, taking the first step was the hardest part … it was the longest stride. And now, back in the land of the living for the first time in nearly twenty-five years, she was starting an all-new journey. And the best part was, she wouldn't be alone.

To be concluded

Additional Author's Notes: Okay, up next is the epilogue, which involves a small time-jump. Rebecca will be reaching Destine shortly, but she won't be joining the others right away. I'll explain more in the epilogue. With regards to her meltdown … I figure Rebecca, who has returned to life in another woman's body, who has had one helluva journey to get from Aleppo back into her own country, was long-past due for a crying jag … and having been in airports recently and dealing with people, that would definitely trigger such a meltdown (see also, my Murphy's Law return from Prague last year). I hope to have the epilogue up by Monday at the latest. Twould be appropriate, having a story called ' _Path to Resurrection_ ' finished by Easter Monday, right? Laterz, y'all.


	12. Epilogue: Turn the Page

Author's Notes: So, we come to the end of this ride. The next story will be up … whenever I have a good place to start. Having Gideon Wilson and Bastiaan de Vries simply showing up on Meg's doorstep and startling their respective kids? Not what I'd call a good place to start, although I'm sure a few people would disagree. A few things before I get to the chapter summary. In this first section, we find Joe Wilson/Kane Wolfman still on Austria, on a detail rating below latrine duty. The crypt under St. Stephen actually exists … you can tour it. I didn't take the tour while I was there last year because I wasn't sure if I had the free time or money (next time I go to Vienna, I'll make sure I have both). The mess Valentina Auer describes also exists. I found reference to it in Atlas Obscura, and it was utterly perfect. Seriously. Look it up, the clean-up of the crypt under St. Stephen is just how someone could discipline an out-of-line operative … teach one humility at the absolute least. So. This chapter, this epilogue. We find out just how Valentina Auer decides to punish Joe Wilson in the wake of the failure of the Jackals (and she will never refer to him as Kane, as she regards that as allowing him to run away from his responsibilities); Slade begins to plant roots in Destine, starting with a very unlikely place; and the changes in the future for much of the Wilson family become apparent.

Epilogue

Turn the Page

Vienna, Austria

The following day

"I have good news and bad news for you. The good news is, your younger brother has been found. Unfortunately, while he's fine, I regret to inform you that your mother is dead."

The young man looked up from his work … actually, 'glared' was the proper term for his expression as he looked up at her. However, the woman addressing him was quite used to worse glares from far more frightening people. In fact, she wished now that she'd used this punishment in the past. They were under the extraordinary St. Stephen's Cathedral, in the crypt … where there remained a great deal of clean-up to do. It occurred to Valentina Auer, not for the first time, that Amanda Waller could have used this type of work. It might have provided her some degree of empathy. Then again, maybe not. It certainly wasn't helping with this boy, who sneered, "So I was here, cleaning up this mess, when I could have been protecting my mother."

No, definitely not helping. She slapped him lightly across the face, retorting, "Considering your mother wanted you to have nothing to do with your younger brother … and was, in fact, a counter-terrorism specialist herself … I doubt there was anything you could have done." For now, she would keep the involvement of the boy's father to herself … information she had courtesy of a former operative who lived in the States. She added a little more gently, because she knew what it was like to lose a parent, "She's being laid to rest beside her younger sister … where she wanted to be." Joseph William Wilson nodded, only the minute tremble of his lips telling her just how upset he really as by the loss of his mother.

"What's going to happen to my brother?" he asked. Fortunately, she'd had time to formulate a response that didn't involve Slade Wilson … because if she mentioned Joe's father, she knew that he'd be on the first plane to the United States to torment his father. Despite their last confrontation, she knew that the boy who called himself Kane Wolfman still wanted Deathstroke to return as the terror he'd once been. Equally fortunate, the answer she had for him was a true one … and she had no interest in telling him where Grant or his father was.

"Your mother and brother were being held hostage with an American woman and her daughter. Based on the information I received, the American was injured in the initial confrontation with the captors … and your mother died while taking care of her. In response, she's now caring for your brother. Don't seek them out … your brother will be just fine," she cautioned. There was a moment when she thought he would tell her 'no,' when his mother's instructions would be forgotten … but after that moment, he nodded reluctantly.

"And how much longer will have I have to do this?" he asked, indicating his current task with a moue of distaste. She smirked at him, allowing her eyes to rove around the crypt. His jaw dropped as he looked around the crypt, and then he looked back at her, breathing, "Are you serious? What's to stop me from killing you and walking out of here right now?" She allowed her smile to grow chilly, something that never failed to unsettle him. Perhaps it was because she was a female, perhaps it was because she was older that his parents … but she learned the hard way to use any advantage available to her.

"You are too much like your father, Joe. Your curiosity prevents you from doing such a thing. You still haven't figured out why I have you doing this, and until you figure that out, you'll keep at it. Oh, you can try to kill me and walk out of here. You've been here long enough to figure out how many guards are posing as parishioners or staff members, and maybe even where they're located. But you're curious, and that curiosity won't let you leave," she snickered. Joe's hands curled into fists. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, wanted to tell her that he was nothing like his father, that he was stronger than Slade Wilson ever dreamed of being … She could see it in his eyes.

… But he couldn't. Because she was right, he knew that she was right, and she knew that he knew she was right. He did want to know what her purpose was in doing this, in demanding that he do this. He needed to know what lesson she was trying to teach him, and if he killed her (because he wouldn't just try, he would succeed, or so he thought), he would never learn. With one last, satisfied smiled, she turned her back on him and headed back upstairs into the cathedral, leaving him alone in the crypt, with only the bones of the long-dead for company.

When she reached the main level of the cathedral, she took a deep breath. Maybe one of these days, the crypt would be cleaned up properly. She smiled at the priest who welcomed her into the church, saying in German, "He is still working on it. I think his next project will be ensuring that the organ jars won't break." The man made a face, and Valentina laughed, "You haven't changed a bit since we were children, Heinrich. I remember you reacted the same way when we heard that story the first time."

"And I was stunned that a girl had no problem with going down into the crypt … much less spending the night there. You thought you had something to prove, though," her old friend answered. Valentina shrugged, and Heinrich continued, "But come … you must tell me all about this young man. This is the first time you've had one of your recalcitrant agents cleaning up the crypt, and I'm curious to hear what he did to draw such a punishment." Valentina rolled her eyes, nodding briefly to the guard who was kneeling in a pew, a few yards away. She'd learned several years earlier to keep her responses general, rather than specific. While her friendship with Heinrich gave her access to the Cathedral, in the past, she had other punishments centered around the city. She liked to stick with the classics … a reminder to her agents that they weren't above manual labor.

And as she talked to the priest, she thought about Gideon Wilson and Bastiaan de Vries, even now on their way to the United States to see Bastiaan's first-born. She wondered if she should tell the duo that they wouldn't just be seeing Meg, but Slade as well, and then dismissed the thought. They would find that out soon enough. She just wished she could be there when they made that particular discovery.

DSDSDSDSDS

Destine, Missouri

Three Weeks Later

Slade Wilson once more sat atop a car, staring up at the warehouse where he'd been held captive and tortured. Only this time, he wasn't looking at it through the eyes of a former captive, but as its new owner. He smirked to himself, remembering how Meg reacted when he broke the news to her. Technically speaking, as the father of the owner, he didn't have to buy the place … but it seemed like the best idea. He'd told Meg while they were cleaning up the kitchen after lunch a fortnight earlier and Meg nearly dropped the plate she was washing to stare at him in shock.

' _Let me get this straight_ ,' she'd said, settling the plate gently in the bottom of the dish pan, ' _you bought the warehouse where your ex died, where she and your son were held, where you were held and tortured? And you're, what, turning it into … something_?' That just about summed it up, as he was still working out the 'something' part … at least at that point. Meg exhaled a breath that blew the fringe away from her forehead, murmuring, ' _Never had you figured to go the poetic and dramatic path, but all right then. What do you need me and Angel to do_?'

Slade immediately protested that he wasn't about to ask them to do anything, but Meg gave him the Look he'd learned not to argue with, adding, ' _Slade. Do_ _ **NOT**_ _argue with me about this. We are helping you. In fact, don't be surprised if the entire town pitches in somehow. What do you need me and Angel to do, especially since I'll be unemployed once more in a matter of weeks_?' There was a touch of bitterness in her voice, and Slade couldn't blame her. One of the individuals instrumental in bringing Meg on board as a volunteer coordinator turned out to be embezzling funds. While no one, least of all the police, believed that Meg was involved in any way, she was tainted with the same stain. She understood, of course, but it still hurt.

In the end, of course, Slade gave in. And, far from surprisingly, Meg turned out to be an absolute demon in the areas where the warehouse needed to be cleaned. He suspected she was trying to come to terms with the time she spent as a captive there, even if was a relatively short time. Angel and Grant helped as well, although Slade's youngest wouldn't go anywhere near the room where he and Adeline were held, where Adeline died. No one blamed him for that, least of all Slade. And probably, if Slade, Meg, and Angel weren't there, he wouldn't have gone near the property … for a long time, if ever. But his family was there, and so he would go there as well.

The work wasn't done … while the two upper levels were mostly complete, there was still the basement level to deal with. But they'd made a huge dent in cleaning to be done. At the beginning of the following week, a structural engineer would conduct a final inspection, to make sure all was as it should be. While they worked, Slade outlined what he was thinking to Meg. His encounters with Braden and Dillon got him thinking, he admitted, that and his confrontation with his older son Joe in Kasnia, which started him on the journey to find Grant. The warehouse would be turned into a youth center … and a base of operations for him. He'd already chosen the tower to be the administrative offices, and the main level would be where the training would take place. He wasn't yet sure if he would do the teaching … while he'd taught the kid how to fight, that was on the island, and the kid was twenty-two years old.

And the basement level? That would be his true base of operations, the nerve center … or as the kid termed it, the lair. It would also take the longest to clean up, as that was the storage area (in more ways than one … some of what they found even had Meg turning green). But they would get there. For now, it was the end of a long day and Slade looked up at the warehouse where he'd found his ex-wife and youngest child, only for Adeline to die in his arms.

He wasn't Oliver. He didn't have a team. But he had people he was starting to trust, people he thought he could trust. They knew this town better than he did, not just in terms of where things were, but how things were done. And Father Rick Gillmore … no, he still didn't trust Slade, but after talking with Troy Everette and learning that the man was Andrew Perkins' cousin, he really couldn't blame him. But whatever he thought of Slade, the priest was committed to doing right by his town, by whatever means he could. Not surprisingly, that was true for his cousin as well.

Not to mention Troy Everette. The older detective admitted ruefully that there was a part of him which wanted to blame him for Meg and Angel being taken by the cousins … but, he sighed, while Meg couldn't quite find trouble in a broom closet, there were times when he thought she could. Slade was of the opinion that Meg was fairly level-headed, but he would keep his mouth shut for now. After all, he'd known Meg for a matter of weeks, while Everette had known her for years. It was quite possible he hadn't seen that side of her yet.

She reclined alongside him on the car now, gazing up at the warehouse they'd spent so much time on during the last few weeks. She'd been in a good mood this past week especially … her father was in the States and making his way west. According to Meg, he had stops in Philadelphia (or, as she called it, Filthiadelphia), in Washington DC, in Cincinnati, Indianapolis, and Chicago before reaching St. Louis sometime within the next week. When he asked her when the last time she'd actually seen her father, she needed a moment before answering that it was nearly two years. She offered a tiny shrug, adding that he lived in Europe and she lived in the States, and that's the way it was. Evidently, it was a question she was often asked.

Meg said softly, interrupting his thought process, "Deacon Andy asked me yesterday if you were going to name this place. Everyone in town knows it's going to be a youth center, especially after the cousins made their supply run yesterday." Slade allowed a tiny smile to cross his face. That ended up being the easiest part of this entire process … he'd testified at the boys' hearing, and the judge gave them community service, with the caveat that they work at the warehouse while it was being cleaned up. After it was cleaned up? Well, they'd see what happened next.

"I don't know … I have something in mind, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it," he answered. Meg turned her head toward him, her expression inquiring, and Slade added, "I was thinking the Stephen Carvalho Youth Center." That was actually something he'd thought through thoroughly when someone told him that the youth center needed a name. Based on what he heard, Meg's late husband wanted a center for local teens and young adults, like what he had in his hometown. And Stephen's widow was looking at him with an expression that was starting to make him uncomfortable, blinking back tears.

And just when he was ready to say that he could find another name, Meg breathed, "That … would be perfect. Stephen would have loved that. That's actually where we met. We were both chaperones at a dance. That would be … thank you, Slade." Meg put down the bottle of sweet tea she'd been drinking, her knuckles brushing Slade's. The former mercenary swallowed hard and returned his attention to the building before them … but he didn't move his hand. They stayed like that for some time, the two adults, reclining on the bonnet of the car, their hands barely touching.

To the left of the car, Angel was chasing Grant around with a hose they'd been using to clean Father Rick's car after finishing inside. Slade smiled to himself, listening to the sound of his son's laughter. It wasn't easy for his youngest child … he struggled between being a child and trying to deal with the trauma of losing his mother in front of him. There were times when Grant would linger in a doorway, eyes on Slade, as if he feared his father would disappear … and other times, like now, when he laughed and played like any other eleven year old boy. He didn't know if he believed in any deities any more … but if there were any benevolent ones listening, he prayed that he did right by his youngest son, that he didn't fail him the way he failed his older brother … that Grant became a good man. He didn't have to be a protector, didn't have to be a sheepdog … just as long as he didn't hurt other people, just as long as he didn't turn into a wolf, the way Slade himself did, the way his older brother did.

He thought of Grant, the one from the future, in those last few moments before he vanished … remembered how he was finally able to forgive his mother, and remembered what that Grant told him … just by raising Angel the way she did, Meg already made an impact on the man his son became. And that? That gave Slade something he thought he'd never feel again: hope.

Slade returned his eye to what would become the Stephen Carvalho Youth Center in the days and weeks ahead, mentally cataloging everything he wanted on that main level. It might not be a bad idea to ask both Father Rick and Deacon Andy (who had a Past of his own) if they would be interested in teaching self-defense classes. Slade would teach Meg, Angel, and his son (Angel told him once the nightmare was over that she never wanted to be helpless again). Slade would see if Meg was right, if Deathstroke could be used as a force for good as well as evil … and this was a good place to start.

DSDSDSDSDSDS

Star City, Oregon

Winter, 2046

It was nearly thirty-five years since he returned to his city, seeking to right the wrongs of his father … and during that time, he'd trained a lot of young people. Some remained in the city, fighting for justice in their own way. Others went to various corners of the world. And some … some ended up using what he taught them for their own benefit, to hurt other people, rather than help them. Students and allies came and went … he remained.

But right now, as he prepared for the greatest fight for his city, he had at his side his two most loyal students. One, his own son, who watched in horror as the island where his mother was stranded, blew up. The other … the other was, for all intents and purposes, his nephew. And right now, he stared down at their city, his expression troubled. The younger man came to him fifteen years earlier, because that was what young men did … they sought their own path. And then, he stayed.

A third student was back at the lair, double-checking the information they'd received. He would have been with them tonight, but he was still recovering from an injury he'd received three nights earlier. The … symmetry made him smile. His son, and the sons of his two closest friends, at his side on the night before they made the push to take back their city. He'd faced a lot of enemies over the course of his life … including the father of the young man on his left. But this battle felt different.

He glanced at the young man in question, asking softly, "You heard from your dad lately, G?" They'd gotten in the habit of calling him years earlier. He'd protested at first, but eventually came to accept it. Like his father before him, he wore black and orange armor, and within a year of his arrival in Star City, criminals began to run at the sight of black and orange. There was a time, years earlier, when such a combination would have induced fear in the innocent. No longer. Hopefully, never again.

"He said to tell you good luck, and if there's anything he can do … any information he can pass along from his contacts, to let him know," was the response. Oliver Queen nodded, and Grant Wilson went on, "It looks like Angel's husband is going to pull through. Of course everyone is grateful … no one wanted her to lose her husband the same way she lost her father. Well, no one wanted her to lose her husband at all, but you know what I mean."

Oliver did know. Grant added after a moment, his voice very soft, "That's why I'm asking to take down the cop killers. I couldn't do anything for the people in Destine who were hurt when that mess happened, but there's plenty I can do here." The older vigilante inclined his head. When Slade told him about the attack on the roadblock that mirrored the death of Stephen Carvalho in 2005, Oliver knew Grant would want the closest thing he could get to justice for his family in Missouri.

"Well, then … Deathstroke … we should get started. Will … Grant … let's take back our city. And Grant, if we're alive at the end of the night, you are calling your sister. Ravager spent nearly twenty minutes on the phone last night with Will, and five of those minutes were her complaining about not getting to talk to you," Oliver added. He grinned at the audible groan from the middle child of Slade Wilson, saying, "Trust me when I say, I know a few things about little sisters. Call … her."

"Is it too late to go after the disease, rather than the symptom?" Grant asked plaintively. Oliver looked at his son and in unison, the pair answered, 'yes.' Grant groaned again, face-palming this time. The two Queens laughed at their companion's reaction …a moment of levity before they faced their fate, whatever that may be. And whatever it might be, they would face it together. Not as a team … but as a family. An incomplete family, but a family nonetheless.

FIN

Additional Author's Notes: Okay, it wasn't Easter Monday, but it was close. In any event, here ends _The Path to Resurrection_. Yes, Grant is now fighting alongside Oliver, William, and Connor Hawke/John Diggle, Jr. Yes, Rose Wilson now exists (we'll get to her in a few stories, assuming I don't lose the plot. Literally). I originally named Angel's husband, but changed my mind, because I want to leave the possibilities open. Not sure when I'll have ' _Deathstroke:_ _Every Man A Quotation_ ' up … hopefully by the end of the month. (fingers, toes, all other appropriate or inappropriate body parts crossed) Until then!


End file.
